


Keep On the Sunny Side

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Series: Sunny Side Verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, Cereal Box Prizes, Child Abuse, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, FBI Agent Derek Hale, Gore, Knotting, M/M, Marriage, Mates, Natural Born Knockoff, Oral Sex, Pack Dynamics, Psychopaths In Love, Revenge, Serial Killers, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, bad music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:43:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like a Tarantino revenge flick, but worse. It's all a little cliche but, hey, they gotta kill Kate Argent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep On the Sunny Side

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from an old, old song, written by Ada Blenkhorn and J. Howard Entwisle. I like the version by The Whites the most.
> 
> Here some things you might want to know going into this:
> 
> Stiles is a year or two older than Isaac and Erica, and he's almost eighteen. 
> 
> Scott and Stiles don't really hang out anymore.
> 
> Derek Hale is an FBI Agent, because it's convenient and I think it's a good look on him. 
> 
> I think the movie Natural Born Killers is way more romantic than it is.
> 
> Peter and Stiles have been mates since Stiles was about sixteen, if we round up.

“Mmm,” the boy hummed, looking beyond pleased as he gazed at the man driving. “It’s leather, too. Vinyl gets too hot and sticky. _Leather_ ,” and he said the word like it was a lover’s name, “Always _feels_ good. I _love_ leather.”

The man glanced over at the boy. “I know.” he said, amused.

“No, no, no, I don’t think you understand,” he insisted, sitting back and grinding himself down into the seat. “I _love leather_. It’s soft and smells good and, _ohmygod_ ,” he moaned, “It’s cool in the summer and warm in the winter. You can break it in - make it perfect for yourself.” 

He ran his hand mindlessly along the seat between them. “Sure, it cracks and it stains and you can’t get it wet and the upkeep’s a bitch but,” and he sighed, truly enamored with his surroundings. “ _Leather_.” And he said it again, like the word itself filled him with pleasure. Like the word felt good inside his mouth and coming out of his lips. His eyes had since closed, but he peeked at Peter, smiling.

“You better watch yourself.” the man said, eyes on the road but grinning. “I’m going to get jealous if you keep it up.”

So, Stiles moaned again, this time, bringing one hand down to caress the seat while the other rubbed down his thigh. He head fell back on the rest, his eyes blinking shut until he looked over at Peter with hooded desire. He bit his lip, one hand coming to cup himself through his jeans. “I always get so hot watching you.” 

Peter looked away from the road a little longer than he should, his grip on the wheel tight. He licked his lips, turning his attention back to the endless desert. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Mmm,” Stiles sighed, still palming himself through denim. “But you’re going to.” 

“Stiles,” the man growled in warning.

“ _Peter_.” he moaned back, his breath hitching in just the right way as he rolled his hips up to meet his hand. He watched the man’s grip on the wheel get even tighter, his eyes flashing blue. The boy broke out into a satisfied smile, but brought the hand between them, the one that'd been stroking the car seat, to Peter’s crotch, feeling him through his pants. 

“Can’t wait to watch you kill that bitch.” Stiles said, low and husky, as he rubbed him through his pants. “I wanna see you rip her throat out with your teeth. I want to watch you tear into her chest and pull her apart.” 

He unzipped his jeans, pulling himself out, and then did the same for Peter. “Want you to fuck me with her blood between your teeth and under your nails. Wanna taste her on you.” And he brought his tongue to Peter’s cock, licking up the side and mouthing at the tip. Peter hissed as Stiles finally took it into his mouth, one clawed hand coming to grasp at his hair and shove him down, forcing him to take it all in. Neither of them lasted long, Peter thrusting into Stiles’s moaning mouth as the boy jerked himself off. 

When Peter came, his boy swallowed most of it. What spilled from between his lips, Stiles licked off of his fingers, mixing it with his own come. Peter grabbed his chin and kissed him until Stiles broke away with a smile and a raspy order of: “Watch the road.”

Peter did glance back before looking over and taking in Stiles again, who was grinning and catching his breath and looking proud. Peter enjoyed watching Stiles at nearly all times but moments like these were his favorites - when the boy was unguarded and openly happy and had just had a cock in his mouth. He looked healthy, his lips were red and wet and the way the boy looked back at him conveyed such emotion that, had Peter been any other sort of man, he might have felt unworthy. 

After a pause, Stiles said, “I like this car. I hope we can hold onto it for a while.”

“You know we can’t keep it for too long.” Peter admonished. Stiles ducked his head.

“I know, I know. I just... It was a good choice.” 

“Thank you, but I didn’t really have that much to do with it,” he reminded the boy. “But, the car is nice and _you_ are divine.”

Stiles looked pleased with the statement and began to root around the car for CDs. Finding some in the armrest, he scanned them quickly. 

“Justin Bieber, Justin Bieber, 1D, Say Anything, 1D, Justin Bieber,” He cut himself off abruptly and sighed, suddenly annoyed. “What the fuck are you; a teeny-bopper?” He looked through a few more. “God, you’re a grown fucking woman - why the fuck do you have the Twilight soundtrack?” 

He turned in his seat and threw the CDs at the woman tied and gagged on the floor of the car. She made more muffled noises into her gag, tugging at her bonds. 

“And shut the fuck up!” Stiles yelled. “God,” he mumbled, sitting back in his seat and glaring at the road in front of them. “We haven’t gotten a quite moment since Milford. _No one_ can hear you,” he snapped at the woman, still facing front, “Except for _us_ and you’re not making things any better for yourself by being loud. You’re just pissing us off.” 

“Stiles, you can turn on the radio.” Peter told him in an even voice.

“I know,” Stiles sighed, exasperated. “But, where has taste gone?” he lamented, turning the audio on and fiddling with the tuner. “People are _so_ uncultured. Remember the last hunter’s car we stole? Only _one_ CD and it was fucking Taylor fucking Swift. At least _she_ had an adapter.” The last sentence was shouted back at the woman, accusing her of her own vehicular inadequacies.

“Don’t talk about others being uncultured, Stiles. It’s like the pot calling the kettle black.” Peter remarked, smiling faintly. The boy squawked indignantly. “Also, we have company. Please try to watch your language.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh, fuck that.” Peter’s lips tightened as he tried to look disapproving. Stiles grinned for him and sprawled in his seat, allowing them to lapse into silence for a minute. Then, “We should buy an adapter for situations like this.” 

“Don’t you think it’s fitting to only use what our gracious yet reluctant hosts have provided for us?” Peter asked. “Poetic, almost.” 

“Oh, you and your poetry.” Stiles said, waving him off but still sounding fond. He paused. “I guess you’re right. Anyway, we’d probably lose it pretty quick. Hey, I’m gonna grab a beer. You want a beer?” 

“Absolutely.”

Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to rummage through the cooler next to their hostage, pulling out two bottles. Coming back, he said, “She smells like piss.” Not turning back, instead grabbing a bottle opener from the bag at his feet, he shouted, “You smell like piss,” to the woman behind him.

“I’ve noticed.” Peter said. Stiles handed him the opened bottle.

“Oh, right. Wolfy senses. Do you wanna move this ahead of schedule? She must _reek_ to you.” 

“Well, if you didn’t smell so overwhelmingly of come, I might say yes. As it is, I think I can wait an hour. It’s almost sundown.” 

“Ooh,” Stiles said, turning around to face their hostage. “Just about time.” He smiled fully and winked at her and she looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. As she began to whine out her muffled cries again, Stiles sighed and looked back at the road.

“Disgusting.” he murmured.

* * *

They stopped in the middle of nowhere, which was where they had been for the past five hours since acquiring their new ride and companion. The nighttime setting was not required but Peter was fond of doing it before he slept. He was a restless sleeper on most nights, and a little action before generally calmed him down. 

Stiles preferred it during the day - preferred most things that included light, actually.

“Want me to make dinner?” Stiles asked as they pulled over from nothing to nothing. 

“Not hungry.” Peter said, gazing up at the sky. The moon was almost full. Looking up, Stiles could tell they had about a week. He could also see how antsy Peter was already getting. There weren’t any overt signs; Peter was as graceful and poised as always as he glided to the rear passenger door and opened it. But, his constant gazing up at the sky and clenching and unclenching of his fists were easy tipoffs after a long time of close study. 

Peter pulled the woman out of the car. 

“What’s her name again?” Stiles asked from his perch on the hood of the car. He was eating a half-unwrapped cereal bar. 

“Cynthia Wright. Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Peter chastised. 

“Oh, Cynthia Wright, right. Got Alpha Beckett’s kid, didn’t ya, Cynth? Why’re hunters always killing kids? Don’t they have a code or something?” 

Cynthia moaned as Peter dropped her on the ground in front of him. She tried to scramble back as he stalked forward but the attempt was laughable - and Stiles did find himself laughing - seeing that both her ankles and wrists were tied and motion was limited. 

“Do you have any desire to help me with this one?” Peter asked. “I know she was upsetting you in the car.” 

“Nah,” Stiles said, finishing his food, putting the plastic wrapper into a bag. He was very careful about not littering. “But bring her in front of the headlights. You know I can’t see as well in the dark.” 

Peter dragged her by her hair to where Stiles wanted them. The boy sat, cross legged, alert and attentive. 

He felt his claws growing, his teeth sharpening. Quite suddenly, ripping into the woman and pleasing his mate were the only two things he could clearly focus on. But he held back, allowed Cynthia a moment to panic, and knelt down to pull off her gag.

Stiles piped up when he saw Peter hesitate, seeming a little too ready for action to properly participate in a dialogue. “We’ll make this quick, Cynth. Do you know where Kate Argent or someone else who knows where Kate Argent is? If you tell us, you get a knife to help defend yourself with.”

“Hamill.” Cynthia said, immediately, her eyes darting between Stiles and Peter, as the man knelt down and cut the ropes off her wrists and ankles. “Beth Hamill. She was in Washington last I heard.” 

Stiles dug around in the backpack next to him and tossed a hunting knife in her direction. 

“Cool, thanks.” he said, reclining back as she scrambled forward to grab the weapon.

Peter allowed the woman a moment to stand and ground herself. He let her breathe and think for a second. She seemed almost frozen, looking only towards Stiles, and she must have been thinking that she had no place to go - surrounded by miles of desert - the only way out being the car.

So, she charged that - and Stiles on the hood. Peter felt himself growling as he quickly went after her, stopping her with one hard, lashing swipe of his hand across her back. As she fell forward, Peter followed, his teeth finding her neck and _tearing_. He rolled her onto her back, one hand pinning her wrist, forcing the knife to the ground. He buried his face in her throat, ripping it out with his teeth and lapping. She gurgled slightly and kicked a few weak times before giving up.

When Peter came back to his senses, he could hear Stiles cheering his name. He looked up and saw his mate sitting erect and grinning. 

“ _Fuck me_ , that was quick! That’s gotta be a record for us.” Stiles laughed, seeming positively thrilled with the show. Peter sprung up and bolted to him. 

“She went towards you first.” he said, taking Stiles’s face in his hands, claws smearing blood on the boy’s cheek and jaw.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but continued smiling, not seeming to understand. “I know, it was totally stupid. You never turn your back on an enemy. She must have been really gone - or just a complete idiot.”

“ _No_ ,” Peter bit out, “She went towards you first.” he repeated, much slower this time.

Stiles stopped smiling. “Oh,” he murmured, finally getting it. “Oh, Peter,” his fingers came to rest over his mate's, “It’s okay. I’m your’s. She wouldn’ta hurt me. No one’s gonna take me from you.” Very slowly, he began to pull Peter’s now fully human hands down from the sides of his face. He took his index finger into his mouth and sucked gently, his amber eyes darting up to the man’s face.

Peter growled and, the next thing they knew, Stiles was pinned under his mate. Peter fucked him on the hood of the hunter’s car with only the stars and God and the desert watching. He let Stiles taste the hunter too.

* * *

Much later, while Peter knotted him, Stiles was scrolling through Cynthia’s cell phone. He’d made it a rule that neither of them were allowed to go through a hostage’s phone until they were dead. Peter thought it was stupid, didn’t make any sense, and did it anyway if Stiles was away in the store or asleep at the rest stop - but he never argued the point with him. 

“Who do you think Maggie is?” Stiles asked, his naked body slotted under Peter’s as their legs dangled off the hood of the car together. “Lesbian lover?” He peeked up, grinning slyly.

Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed. Stiles opened some of the latest texts from Maggie and read them aloud.

“‘Seriously, where are you? What’s going on? Answer your phone. Is it a hunt? Are you okay? Where are you? Danny’s really scared, Mom-’” Stiles voice caught on the word and Peter could feel the sorrow already rolling off of his mate, so he brought his head down to nuzzle just below his ear.

“It’s okay,” Peter told him. 

Stiles was silent, his lips pursed as he stared at the phone more, still scrolling. Finally, he shrugged and tossed the phone into the backseat with all the CDs.

* * *

They were driving down the desert road again. Stiles had broken down, realizing they were too far away from any good stations, and put in one of Cynthia’s terrible CDs. 

“It’s not so bad,” he murmured, but his voice was swallowed by the blast of the music and the roar of the racing wind. Peter only heard him because it was nearly impossible for him to not hear something his mate said. Especially on a morning like this, when he still felt like blood was rolling down his chin and drying on his hands and coating his tongue. Especially on a morning when Stiles had woken up in a bad, quiet mood that would almost certainly turn to anger later. 

Speeding along, Peter saw the beginning of a faint shape on the horizon. Stiles didn’t seem to notice, staring off to the side at the scrolling, endless waste. 

“It seems we may be having company soon.” Peter said, turning the music down.

Stiles perked up. “Cops?” he asked. 

“Can’t say yet,” Peter said, squinting into the distance. “It appears,” he began, “No. Break down.”

“Hmm,” was the entirety of the boy’s response. Peter slowed down to a stop in front of a frantic looking couple.

“Car trouble?” Peter asked as he slid like something hot and smooth out of the car. He smiled at them and they were either too stupid or too panicked to notice anything predatory in the way he looked at them. Stiles joined him, standing by his side, looking between everyone with a mixed expression of boredom and caution. Peter worked an arm around his waist in a gesture of comfort. 

The man looked delighted to see them, smiling and nodding as he spoke. “Boy, are we glad you two came along. Blew a tire and, would you believe it, I left my jack back home? If you and your son hadn’t driven by, we’d have been up skit creek, if you know what I’m saying.”

At the son comment, both Peter’s grip on Stiles and his smile grew tighter. “Yes,” he agreed, “It’s quite fortuitous that me and my _son_ found you. There isn’t a living soul around for miles. Isn’t that right, Stiles?” Peter looked over at him, the show of teeth cold and amused.

“Not a living one, _Daddy_.” Stiles bit back. 

The simple man across from them seemed oblivious, launching into a spiel about how he couldn’t get any reception out there, but the woman eyed them with suspicion. Their proximity and contact did not seem quite usual for a normal father/son pair. She scrunched her brow and narrowed her eyes before cutting her husband - as the matching silver bands on their fingers suggested - off.

“Do I know you two?” she asked.

Stiles face instantly lit up and he wordlessly looked over to Peter as if to say, _look - look at **that** \- we’re **famous**_. Being recognized was one of Stiles’s favorite things. 

Regardless, Peter said, in his leisurely way, “No,” his hand creeping down to grope the boy’s ass. The man didn’t seem to notice but his wife seemed to place them in just that moment, her eyes lighting up as she gaped at them silently. “We’ve got a jack in the trunk, don’t we, dearling?” Peter continued on. “Why don’t you go get it?” Stiles shrugged, his eyes snagging on the woman, before he turned to fetch.

“No, that’s alright.” The woman protested. “We don’t want to trouble you.”

“Joanie...” her husband frowned, not seeming mad but confused. Peter figured the man was too simple to ever really get that mad.

“ _Tim_ ,” she hissed back. “Trust me.” 

Stiles returned with Cynthia’s jack. “Here ya go, _Pops_.”

Peter sent his mate a vaguely disapproving look, and the boy smiled even brighter, making the ridiculous name worth it. 

“Joanie, it’s fine.”

“It’s _not_.” she stressed. “That’s _Peter and Stiles Hale_.” Tim didn’t look as blown away as his wife had obviously expected. In fact, there was no recognition at all.

“I love it when they say that. _Stiles Hale_.” Stiles grinned at Peter. “I don’t get to hear that enough. Derek still says Stilinski in all his reports. 

“They’re criminals,” she whispered, her eyes darting between them, “They _kill_ people.”

“We do quite a lot of things, actually.” Peter corrected, seeming mildly annoyed. “It’s distasteful how everyone fixates on this one little detail. The killing only really accounts for five to ten percent of the illegal activity we do in the public eye.”

“I’d say eight, tops.” Stiles added.

“Arguably theft and property damage are our most common offenses.” 

“We don’t pay taxes either.” Stiles said. 

“Yes, there’s that as well.” 

“And, if we weren’t so sneaky, we’d probably get busted for public indecency, like, all the time.” 

“Oh, yes,” Peter nodded, gazing at Stiles with a look that made it very clear that he was thinking of all the countless times they’d fucked in places that could still make Stiles blush and duck his head when mentioned. “Above all else, that.”

He looked back at the terrified, trapped couple. “So, if you would kindly stop focusing solely on the more deadly aspects of our career, it would be much appreciated.”

“Besides,” Stiles said, moving towards the couple, holding out the jack to Tim. “It’s all done in the name of justice.” 

Tim and Joanie stood, speechless and still, as if they believed Peter and Stiles would forget they were there if they didn’t move. 

“Don’t you want to fix your tire?” Stiles asked, prompting Tim to take the jack in a stiff, shaking hand and move towards the car.

“You know,” Peter began after Tim had begun to crank the car in to position. “That really is a nice car. Don’t you think, Stiles?”

The boy looked at him, a little wary. He obviously did not like their car as much as Cynthia’s. “It’s alright.”

“Poor Stiles loves a convertible but we always seem to forget sunscreen and he burns so easily.” Stiles scoffed. “Your car must be nice.”

Joanie swallowed. “You want our car?” 

“Oh, I would never suggest such a thing. It would be completely impolite to ask. However, if you were interested in a trade...”

“Fine, you can have the car.” she said.

“Thank you,” Peter smiled, seeming gracious and malicious at the same time. “We also seem to be low on cash.” 

Joanie, resigned, rummaged through her handbag and pulled out her wallet. She fished out two hundred dollar bills. Handing the money over, she extended her arm as far as she could to keep her distance from the man. “That’s all I have.”

Peter let his fingers brush over her’s as he took the money. “And your husband?” he prompted, looking over to see Tim’s progress on Stiles and his new car. 

“Doesn’t carry more than a twenty with him on a good day.”

“Ah, well then, you two should probably hold onto that.” Peter allowed. They didn’t say much after that, he and Stiles pulling their few belonging’s out of Cynthia’s car. 

Tim came to join his wife when he was finished, a possessive, protective arm coming around her shoulders. Instead of handing it over, he tossed the jack to the ground in front of Stiles, who blinked and raised an eyebrow at the man.

“ _Rude_.” he murmured to himself, glaring down at the jack. Peter smirked and took a step towards his mate, lifting his chin up to kiss him. Stiles met him eagerly, and the kiss was more tongue and show than anything else. Peter’s hand trailed down Stiles’s back to squeeze his ass while Stiles reached down to grope his own crotch. The man’s other hand came to lace over his fingers, stroking along with him. Stiles moaned a loud, delicious, debauched sound as they tried to paint as filthy a picture they could for their viewers.

Joanie and Tim both looked sick when Stiles and Peter finally broke apart. The woman had ducked her head is if ashamed to witness such a thing. 

Peter smacked his boy’s ass, eliciting a small yelp, as he growled for him to get in the car.

“Fine, pushy. He always acts up for company.” Stiles explained to the clearly disgusted couple. Peter swatted at him again but Stiles dodged it, laughing, and springing towards the car, toting his backpack behind him.

Peter turned his attention to the man and woman in front of him. “It was wonderful to meet you, Joanie and Tim. Have a lovely drive.” he said, exchanging Cynthia’s keys for their’s. “You’ll probably want to turn that car into the police - the owner’s family will need to be notified of it’s return. My mate and I will be heading to Las Vegas. Gambling. We love risk.” He shot a grin at Stiles, who looked back at him momentarily to smile back, before returning to his task of gutting the car of Joanie and Tim’s uninteresting possessions. 

“ _Adieu,_ Joanie and Tim. May the gods bless you with many offspring and long, happy lives.” Peter didn’t wait for a response, and did not receive one, as he joined his mate in the car. 

“You do realize we can’t go to Las Vegas for, like, six months now. Or anywhere _near_ Nevada.” Stiles pointed out as Peter started the car up. 

“Honestly, Stiles, why would we want to?” Peter sighed, as he began to drive away. They both waved once to the man and woman. Joanie and Tim did not wave back.

“I dunno. Reasons. Maybe we could get married by fat Elvis. That’d be fun.” 

“Also illegal.” Peter checked his rearview to see that the couple had finally started to collect their things. 

“I’m almost eighteen.” Stiles all but whined.

Peter smiled. “Yes. An eighteen year old _man_. Trying to marry a _man_. In Nevada.”

“ _Oh._ ” Stiles said. “Right.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Peter, do you ever get... upset about that?” 

“About what?” Peter asked, not willing to assume where his mate's mind had taken this.

“That I’m a guy. I know it’s not a problem sexually but - Kids, Peter. Don’t you want kids? I mean, what you said to that couple - and I know we’ve talked about it before,” Stiles continued when he saw Peter about to point this out. “I just - worry.”

Peter considered him for a moment. “Stiles, do you want to have kids?” 

Stiles looked at his hands, then out the window - anywhere but Peter. “Maybe if we weren’t on the road so much.”

“Because reproduction for us,” Peter finally said, “Does not hinge on sexual intercourse, you and I could start a Pack whenever we wanted.”

His mate looked close to horrified. “You’re not talking about giving the bite to little kids, are you?”

“Of course not. And, at least for a little while, any added Pack would need to be travel-ready.”

There was a breath in between. “You wanna build up Pack with me?” Stiles asked, beaming.

“Would that make you happy, my heart?” Peter responded, looking at the boy next to him.

“Yes.” Stiles nodded once, sitting back in his seat. “I think it would.”

* * *

“So, who’s next?” Stiles asked as Peter pulled away from the drive-thru window. Stiles was stretched out in the front seat of their new car - two switches after Joanie and Tim’s and a day later. This car was bigger and the air conditioning was better, but Joanie and Tim had had a better selection of music. 

Peter handed him the bag of fast food, and it took Stiles less than five seconds to shove all the curly fries he could fit into his mouth. 

“Ryan and Elizabeth Hamill. Elizabeth is a relative of the Argents, her mother being one of Gerard’s nieces. I can’t tell if Ryan knows about her - he doesn’t appear to be involved - but she moved them to Washington and doesn’t work with the Argents much anymore.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, mouth full. “You found all that out online?” Peter just looked smug. “You’re getting really good at this research thing.”

“Please,” Peter rolled his eyes, “We can’t all be at a Derek-level of incompetence when it comes to technology." He paused and then added, “I may also know a friendly Pack in the area who was able to give me some information as well.”

“So, what? We bust in there and break some skulls until they tell us where Kate is?”

Peter waved him off. “I doubt they’ll know. We just need to send a clear message that we’re looking for her.”

* * *

“Here’s the thing, Beth.” Stiles said to the gagged blonde. She was tied to her chair and seemed more pissed than anything else, like Stiles was a nuisance and not a threat. He tried to ignore that - was kind of used to it, honestly. “Or is it Eliza? Liz? Whatever. Never mind. Beth, my name is Stiles. My mate, who is currently tying up your husband, is Peter Hale. This is where I’d ask if you’ve heard of us, but you aren’t really in a position to answer, so...

“Peter’s been looking for a relative of yours for quite a while. Her name is Kate Argent, hunter bitch extradonaire. Since you’re all family, we figure you can tell us where she is - or at least give us the locations of the other Argents who can help us track her down.

“Now, maybe,” Stiles said, pulling up a chair to sit across from her. “You’re not too eager to help - which I respect. I mean, werewolf,” he gestured to Peter, who was just finishing securing an unconscious Ryan Hamill to a chair a few yards away from his wife. “Werewolf’s mate,” he gestured to himself. “Hunter,” Elizabeth. “But we’ve got something that’ll get conversation going.” He gestured to Ryan. “Husband.” 

As if on cue, Ryan began to groan as consciousness came sliding back to him.

“Ah, the man of the hour!” Stiles exclaimed. “Good morning, Ryan! Feeling comfortable?” The man moaned into his gag. “Glad to hear it.” He turned his attention back to Elizabeth. “So, here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna take your gag out and you’re going to tell us how we can find Kate Argent. Okay?”

Elizabeth, the apparent queen of the icy stare, was unmoving, sitting still, but her gaze was snagging on her quickly growing frantic husband. Stiles stood and bridged the short distance between them, reaching around the woman to untie her gag. “Careful what you say now,” he warned, letting the gag drop to the floor beside them. “Peter’s a little tense today. Full moon’s tonight, and all.”

Elizabeth wet her lips, looking from the boy to her husband. “I don’t know where Kate Argent is.”

Stiles looked back at his mate, who shrugged, still standing over Ryan. “Truth.”

“Okay, then,” Stiles said, shrugging back at Peter, who deftly slashed at the right side of Ryan’s face, cutting up along his cheek and eyebrow. The man screamed and moaned around the fabric filling his mouth.

“ _Stop_.” Elizabeth ordered, tugging her chair forward just a titch as if she could reach her husband and stop Peter. “He told you I was telling the truth.”

“So?” Stiles asked, looking at her as if he didn’t really understand. “I wanted the location of _either_ Kate Argent _or_ someone else who might know where she is. This is easy, Beth.”

Elizabeth sat silent, staring at her bleeding husband. Stiles left his place in front of her and went to stand by his mate, gazing down at Ryan.

“Oh, look at his eyes, Peter. I haven’t seen such a light green in years. Benefits of marrying a ginger, huh?” He winked at the woman. 

“What attracted you to him in the first place? Was it his eyes? They’re lovely.” Peter said, a hand running through Ryan's hair before gripping it and pulling his head back. 

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked, sounding numb and lost, like she knew the answer to her question.

Stiles indulged her regardless. “We’re going to rip out his eyes, _duh_. God, keep up. Haven’t you seen any decent supernatural thriller ever? There’s a common fear of something happening to your eyes shared by nearly all people and we’ve found that it can be very effective to play off such fears in situations like these. Plus, it’s badass.”

“I don’t _know_ where any of the Argents are. After Chris’s girl died, they went off the grid.” Elizabeth said, desperately trying to stall for her now crying, terrified husband. Peter held on claw just over his eyes. “We don’t share addresses anymore. It’s not safe.” 

“Jesus Christ on a crutch, Beth. There has to be _something_ you know,” Stiles sighed, truly disappointed. “Otherwise, this is a waste of our time and I don’t see much of a reason to be keeping your husband around.” 

Elizabeth struggled in her seat again. “Wait, wait! I - hold on - No, wait. I think I remember Chris saying something about Colorado. So you don’t have to hurt him. That’s all I know. Please.” She looked between them frantically. 

“Oh, dear, Elizabeth,” Peter hissed, baring his teeth, claws coming to rest on Ryan’s face. “You never lie to a werewolf.” And with that, he sank his index and ring fingers into her husband’s eyes. The couple screamed together and bucked in their seats together but only Ryan was blinded. Elizabeth seemed to wish she could be as well. Stiles thought it was all very romantic. 

Peter pulled back and looked sharply at his mate, his eyes dark and red and clouded. Stiles felt himself heating instantly, as Peter brought his fingers up, the tips of sharp claws poking at his lips. The boy opened his mouth obediently, and his mate pushed the digits into that warmth, as Stiles ran his tongue over sharp edges and hot fingers.

Growling, Peter sat his mate on the other man’s lap. He tilted Stiles’s face up and leaned down, kissing him senseless. He broke away to bite and lap at his boy’s neck, his fangs out, always threatening to break skin. Stiles grinded back into the man behind him, and started to rub himself through his jeans. He let out a high, needy moan as Peter sank to his knees in front of him.

“Oh, God, I love you.” Stiles moaned as he man unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. As he licked it base to tip, Stiles grasped one hand through his mate’s hair, reaching back to clutch at Ryan's as well. And just as Peter lowered his head fully to his pleasure, taking him into his throat, Stiles threw his head back onto the other man’s shoulder, groaning and swearing into his ear.

He turned his head to nose at Ryan’s neck and peeked his eyes open to look at Elizabeth, who was tormented and struggling. Thrusting up a few times, he mewled again, and spoke a breathless, shaky, “I’m gonna come.”

Peter just growled around his dick and Stiles was shooting, coming with a cry, down his throat. 

They caught their breath for a moment before Peter stood and grabbed Stiles’s hand, pulling him up and towards the door. Stiles quickly fixed his pants, shouting one, “Thanks, guys!” back at the couple. They exited the Hamill house with a slam of the door. 

Peter tossed Stiles the keys. “I’m really sorry,” Stiles hushed out as the man silently seethed on the other side of the car. “Next time you can be the negotiator and I’ll give you head on top of the hostage.” He’d meant it to cheer up his mate, but the man slammed his fist down on the car, creating a small dent.

“That was our only lead!” he shouted, his eyes flashing red at the boy. Stiles cringed. 

“I know, but, hey, we just gotta keep looking. You said it yourself - it’s gonna take some time.” 

“But was have _nothing_ ,” Peter snapped.

“And we’ll just carry on as we have. It’s okay - we’re gonna find her. Chances are, she’s already looking for us too - and if she’s not, this is definitely gonna get her started.” 

Peter snorted but seemed to be calming, “Sure. She and Derek may even team up.”

Stiles grinned and, after a moment, asked, “You wanna rob a bank? You always feel so much better after robbing a bank.”

The man stared at him for a moment before breaking off into a smile himself. “Maybe tomorrow. I have other plans for tonight.”

* * *

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles said the moment the man picked up.

“ _Stiles_.” Derek said, the name sounding relieved and angry and sad all at the same time.

“Where are you? What are you wearing?” Stiles grinned at Peter, who smiled back.

“I’m in Nevada.” was the terse reply. He didn’t seem happy about this.

“Oh, fuck, you _believed_ that? I didn’t think anyone would fall for that - especially not you.”

“I didn’t. Boss sent me here. Have to check out all potential leads.” Derek said it like he thought it was bullshit. “They’ll be sending me to Washington next.”

“Oh, you heard about that?” Stiles asked, tickled. The line was silent. “Derek, did I lose you?” 

“Really, Stiles? You ate a man’s eyes?” Derek certainly didn’t approve of such things but Stiles chuckled, a low, breathy noise. 

“In some places it’s considered a delicacy, probably.”

“It’s disgusting.” 

“Eyes are where people’s power or essence or whatever is held, right? I just wanted to absorb his power.”

“Stiles...” Derek growled but the boy could tell he was trying to stifle his amusement. Everyone knew Derek was a little fucked too. 

“I will consume all.” Stiles said, a smile creeping into his voice. “I am the Alpha and Omega. I am the first and last. I am what is and will always be. I am all things. We are legion. Resistance is futile. Join us, Der- _ek_.” His voice broke and hitched and whined on the last part of his name because Peter curled his three fingers inside of him, brushing over something sweet and jolting.

“ _Stiles_.” Derek’s voice was thick and warning. 

“I’ve missed you, Derek.” Stiles panted, his hips bucking back to Peter, who chuckled.

“Stiles, I-”

“Pack’s not supposed to be like this, Derek. You’re supposed to be with us. We - _Oh_ ,” and the sigh he exhaled made Derek moan over the line as Peter, his fingers still stretching and curling, lowered his mouth to Stiles’s cock to swallow him down for the second time that day.

“Stiles, _stop_.” Derek pleaded.

“You could hang up.” Stiles managed to get out, breathless, as Peter began to bob up and down, leisurely. He groaned as Derek growled. “Don’t you miss me?” Stiles asked, sounding small. 

Peter pulled off his cock with a slick pop. He took his fingers out as well, reaching for the plastic bottle on the side table to lube up his cock. Stiles wet his lips as Peter positioned himself at his entrance. He leaned down to pepper kisses on his mate’s throat and chest before slowly pushing in. 

“Derek, I-” but Stiles’s voice choked off, sticking in his throat. The only thing he could hear, however, was the sound of a sad dog whining. Peter pushed in the rest of the way, buried to the hilt and Stiles, catching his breath, went to comfort Derek 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’m-” Peter pulled out quickly and slammed back in, causing Stiles to gasp and moan and then glare up at his smug, smirking partner. “ _Rude_ ,” he snapped. Peter just did it again, raising the boy’s hips up more for added control. Stiles groaned, wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist as the man set a slow, deliberate pace.

“Love you,” Stiles hummed and Peter and Derek knew that the sentiment extend to them both. 

“Stiles, I’m so sorry.” Derek ground out. Stiles wanted to huff and roll his eyes. He should have guessed Derek couldn’t just be turned on - he had to muck it all up with guilt too. Peter thrust his hips forward too hard, causing Stiles to groan in that pleasurepain are he liked so much.

“Wish you were here,” Stiles moaned in lieu of a response. “Fucking me with him.” 

Peter growled and Derek made a similar noise, but it sounded too forlorn to hold the same raw heat. 

His mate started to pound into him harder and just fast enough for Stiles to stop talking. A hand snaked between them, grasping Stiles’s leaking cock, just as Stiles's own hand holding the cell phone dropped to the side by his ear. His other hand came to grab his mate’s hair, pulling him down to kiss him. 

The noises that escaped his lips were soft little punched out cries that he knew Derek could still hear, even with the phone dropped.

“Peter, please,” he begged.

“Please, what?” and the boy felt the words more than heard them.

“ _Bite me_.”

Peter did clamp down on his neck but was careful not to draw blood. As he could feel the prickle of teeth on his neck, he felt a swelling at the base of his mate’s dick, and groaned shamelessly at the stretching ache.

“Come for me, Stiles,” Peter ordered hot against his wet skin. Moaning, unable to stop himself, he shot white between their bodies, coating Peter’s hand and their stomachs, calling out Peter’s name.

His mate’s knot swelled and grew, as the uncomfortable but familiar and distantly pleasant sensation of being too full took over him. He could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness.

Peter must have picked up the phone because he could hear vague snippets of a conversation as he slowly fell asleep.

“This separation is completely unnecessary... You could just quit - Pack before work... Not wrong, he’s doing everything he wants... Happy, Derek, but I’m sure you must have trouble remembering the emotion... We _both_ miss you.”

* * *

Peter hated guns. It wasn’t a moral issue. He just thought they were stupid. Stiles liked them just fine, but never would have named them as his weapon of choice. Peter was almost certain he, himself, had never even fired a gun and Stiles had probably never killed someone with one before. He wasn’t even sure the one Stiles handed to him was loaded. However, for situations such as these, guns were, regrettably, necessary. After all, nothing could strike as much instantaneous fear into a crowd of people like a man with a gun. 

The entrance and initial aggression which keyed the bank attendants in that they were being robbed was done with a smooth elegance that Peter liked to apply to all his work. His voice never raised more than it needed to as he politely ordered everyone, except one, terrified bank teller, to lay face down on the ground.

Stiles worked the floor, robbing banks having never been his favorite of their criminal activities, as the mousy brunette, close to tears, shoved wads of bills into a backpack. As Peter returned, thanking the teller for her cooperation, he found his mate gazing intently at a young man with curly hair lying on the floor with the rest of the civilians. 

“Take anything you like, but we really should get going.” Peter said, taking his mate by the elbow to lead him towards the door. Stiles looked up and inclined his head at the young man. Peter, interested to see what Stiles wanted with him exactly, having just a faint idea, smirked and nodded once.

Stiles knelt down and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder lightly, as if he were a small, easily startled animal. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, softer than was expected. He nudged the boy up. “You’re gonna come with us, okay?”

The young man - boy, Peter noted - stared at them dumbstruck, unmoving.

“Come on,” Stiles ordered, more insistent, but smiling. “Before the police show up and this becomes a disaster.” He helped the other boy to his feet and took his hand, tugging him out of the bank with Peter trailing behind them.

Peter took the driver’s seat with Stiles shotgun. The curly haired boy took a place in the back. Stiles sat backwards, beaming at the boy, his chin resting on his crossed arms positioned over the headrest.

“First things first. Do you have a garage? We’ll need somewhere to hide our car for a little bit.” 

The boy blinked at them.

“He’s frightened.” Peter said, driving away from the bank quickly, checking all around for signs of the police. “Remember your manners.”

“Right,” Stiles nodded, glancing at Peter for only a second. Looking back at the other boy, he said, “I’m sorry we scared you. I promise, we don’t want to hurt you so you can stop looking like a scared puppy. What’s your name?”

The boy was hesitant. After a second, he said, “Isaac.”

“And do you know who we are, Isaac?” Peter asked, checking the boy in the rearview mirror. The way his big, blue eyes flicked towards him in the mirror was endearing beyond belief. The boy nodded stiffly. “Well, then you know you have nothing to fear from us.”

“Exactly!” Stiles added. “You don’t fit our hit criteria at all. Neither a werewolf or a hunter - unless you’ve got something you need to confess?” Stiles said it playful, winking, but Isaac didn’t seem any more at ease.

“Would anyone in that bank know your name?” Peter asked, evenly. Isaac shook his head. “Where do you live, Isaac?” Stiles grinned even more, looking over at Peter like it was Christmas.

Isaac paused again. Finally, he told them his address. Peter nodded once.

Stiles kept gazing at the other boy, as if trying to memorize his face. Out of nowhere, he asked, “Do you think I’m attractive, Isaac?”

“Stiles,” Peter growled.

“I won’t ask for Peter because _everyone_ knows Peter is handsome as fuck.” Stiles said, sending his mate a sideways glance. “So I won’t ask about him. And I think you’re gorgeous. But, me, Isaac? What do you think about me? Do you think I’m attractive?”

Isaac nodded after a moment.

“Say it aloud.”

“Yes.” Isaac ventured.

Stiles looked over at Peter sharply. The man shrugged. “It’s the truth.” His boy looked beyond smug.

“Good.” he declared. He paused, thinking over his next question. “Have you ever kissed a guy before?”

Isaac looked around the car for a first time as if an exit would appear. When none was found, he admitted, very quietly, “My dad.” 

“Ah, family doesn’t count!” Stiles scoffed, waving him off.

Peter said softly, just to his mate. “I think this is different.” 

Stiles frowned and murmured, “Oh.” He looked back at the boy who was looking at the cloth upholstery of the car. “Do you live with your dad?” 

Isaac didn’t look up but nodded.

Stiles considered this, chewing his lip. He opened his mouth to ask another question but they were puling up to a house.

“Is this it?” Peter asked. Isaac nodded, and they pulled into the driveway in front of a garage. “Do you promise not to run?” Isaac nodded again. “Verbally, please.”

“I won’t run.” Isaac said.

“Good. Go open the garage for us.” Peter said. Isaac scrambled out of the car. The moment the door was shut behind him, Stiles turned to his mate.

“I want him.” he stated.

“I cant tell.” Peter smirked.

“No.” Stiles insisted. “ _I want him_. For pack.”

Peter smiled, a little softer now. “I know, Stiles. You don’t generally just pick up hostages for one night stands.”

“Do you like him?” Stiles asked. “Because if you don’t like him we can just let him go. But I think he needs our help like we need him.”

“We don’t _know_ him, Stiles.” Peter reminded his boy.

“But he seems sweet." Stiles said. Wistfully, he added, "He’d make a good wolf.”

Peter reached forward to stroke over his mate's cheek. “You don’t know that, my heart.” His face fell and Peter relented. “We’ll ask him if he wants the bite. And if he wants us to take care of his father.”

“You’re the best, Peter.” Stiles said, leaning forward to kiss him once. “I love you.” Peter, his hand still on the boy’s cheek, kissed him again, this time deep and wet and long. When they broke apart, Isaac was staring at them openly through the front window. Stiles grinned and pecked Peter on the lips before stepping out of the car.

“Your dad home?” he asked. Isaac shook his head, so Stiles took him by the arm lightly to pull him out of the way as Peter drove in. 

The car was settled and the garage shut. Both Peter and Stiles kept a respectful distance from the boy as he unlocked the door to his home. Stiles followed him to his bedroom while Peter went to check out the rest of the house. 

“Oh my God,” Stiles moaned, flopping down onto Isaac’s bed face first. “Home-bed. Beds in motels never feel like this.” The other boy stood awkwardly in the middle of his room. Stiles sat up, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry. Bad with boundaries.” He stood and gestured to the bed for Isaac to sit as he began to look around the room. 

True to his bad with boundaries descriptor, Stiles found himself looking through drawers and stacks of paper and scrapbooks.

“This your mom?” Stiles asked, softly, lightly tracing over a smiling woman’s face. When Isaac said yes without even needing to look, Stiles asked a “Where is she?” he already knew the answer to.

“Gone,” was all Isaac said.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded. “Yeah.” He went silent, looking through the scrapbook a little more. Coming to a later page his face lit up and Isaac winced immediately.

“It’s not what it looks like.” he said. 

“Really?” Stiles beamed. “Because it looks like you’re a fan.” He paused, scanning through the articles. 

“‘Monstrous Serial Killer and His Child Bride’ - Oh, for fuck’s sake. He hasn’t even fucking _married_ me yet. I’m the only one who’ll even talk about it. Also, why does he get to be a killer? It makes me sound like I’m just sitting around - picking out color schemes and invitations or something. I’m a serial killer too!” he whined, looking up at Isaac, who didn’t seem to completely understand the insult. Stiles collected himself and looked back at the scrapbook.

“I guess it’s a good picture, though. Most of the time, they’ll use a picture of Peter all wolfed out but, I mean, that makes _no_ sense. If you’re trying to get people to watch out for us, you have to remember that Peter only looks like that every so often and, if you actually saw Peter like that, chances are you’d be dead before you could contact anyone. I guess they want to scare you - Be Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf! - Wolves Will Kill You! 

“Really, all the anti-werewolf bullshit is at least fifteen percent of why we have to do this. People forget that wolves are people, you know? It makes it easier to kill them. Everyone forgets that Peter looks like this most of the time.” 

The more Stiles stared at the picture, the softer he got around the eyes and corners of his mouth. “I like this picture, though.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” Isaac asked finally.

Stiles looked up as if startled, but beamed. “Yes. Of course I do.”

“It’s just - in articles about you - they make it seem like...” Isaac trailed off, not wanting to offend someone who had proved to be so lethal.

“Like I’ve been brainwashed?” Stiles supplied. “Yeah, anyone whose talked to Mr. - I’m sorry - _Agent_ Derek Hale seems to think so.” He rolled his eyes. “Derek’s coming to terms with it slowly. Outrageously, fantastically, snail’s-pace slowly. But he’s coming to terms with it.” He flipped the page and sat next to a suddenly very stiff Isaac on the bed.

“Oh! I remember when this was taken!” Stiles laughed. “Peter had just played some ridiculous trick on me - don’t remember what - and I was so pissed! Peter snapped a picture because he’s an asshole and sent it to Derek - and I guess Derek or one of his superior’s sent it to a newspaper or it got leaked. It probably got leaked. I don’t think the FBI purposefully puts out silly pictures of wanted criminals.”

“It doesn’t look really silly to me.” Isaac said. “You look deranged.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve talked to me. Do I seem deranged? I mean, I’m a little crazy, I’ll admit. But the important thing is I’m in control of my actions.”

Isaac hesitated before saying. “You ate a guy’s eyes.”

“Oh - for the love of-” Stiles huffed. “ _Once_. I did it _once_ \- to freak out a chick. Peter and I do a lot of outrageous stuff purely to make hunters _think_ we’re crazy. So I ate a dude’s eyes _once_? It’s not like I sucked them out of his sockets, you know? I was really just cleaning off my mate’s fingers. I do it all the time and it’s perfectly normal.

“Anyway, how did you even know about that? Did that hunter couple - I forget their names - do a press conference or something?”

Isaac shrugged. “Just read it somewhere.”

“Hmm,” Stiles regarded the other boy. Finally, he sat forward, leaning into Isaac a little. “When does your dad get back?”

“I don’t know. Half an hour? Tomorrow morning?” Isaac offered, pointedly not looking at him. “He does what he likes.” Stiles made a contemplative nosie and placed a hand on the bed right next to Isaac’s, their pinkies touching. At the contact, the other boy turned his head to look at him. “Are you going to kiss me?” This seemed to be a worrying issue for him, so Stiles shook his head.

“No. The first time we do, you’ll kiss me. From them on, I’ll kiss you whenever I like. But, I don’t want to force you.” His hand reached up to play with one of Isaac’s curls.

“I thought Peter was your mate.” 

Stiles pulled his hand away, looking taken aback. “He is my mate.” He left the _duh_ unsaid. “I love him more than anyone and I’ll always be his and he’ll always be mine. But we’ll always share with Pack.”

Isaac blinked. “I’m not Pack.”

“Do you want to be?” Stiles grinned.

Just then, Peter came through the door. “Stiles, we should talk.” He looked and sounded pleasant enough but Stiles could tell by the whiteness of his mate’s knuckles as he grabbed the door a little too hard that something was wrong.

“Sure,” the boy said, springing to his feet casually. He sent one smile back to Isaac before following Peter into the hall and to an open door a few yards from Isaac’s room.

“What’s up?” he hushed as he followed Peter through the door and down the stairs.

“You should probably see for yourself.” Peter murmured back, as he felt along the wall for a light switch. Flicking it on, one dim bulb illuminated the basement. 

Stiles spotted the item of interest immediately. He looked from his mate to the object very slowly. He asked, “Why are there chains on that freezer?” 

Peter stared ahead as Stiles took another step towards the chest. “Peter,” he asked again, “Why would someone put chains on their freezer? What’s in there?” He stopped in front of it and fiddled with the unlocked metal, then looked back at his mate. 

“Nothing.” Peter finally said, his voice controlled. Stiles opened it anyway. 

“Oh, Christ, Peter - He _doesn’t_ -“ Stiles said, his stomach turning on itself and his chest tightening. “Not this too.” He ran a hand over his face feeling lightheaded until he could feel Peter standing behind him, an arm around his waist pulling him close and turning him away. “I can’t even - I don’t. I can’t even imagine.”

“Being trapped,” Peter said, very stiffly, “Being able to free yourself is an indescribable agony.” 

“We can't leave Isaac with his dad. We don’t have to take him with us but we can’t - I can’t - Please, Peter,” Stiles looked up to his mate finally, “We have to do something.”

“I know,” Peter said, his hands framing Stiles’s face. “I’ll go get the things from the car. You keep the boy calm.”

Stiles nodded and they ascended together. Isaac was waiting in the hallway, looking mortified to see where they were coming from. He opened his mouth as if preparing to downplay what they had seen but stopped himself, shaking his head minutely before focusing his gaze on the floor. 

Walking towards Isaac as Peter went towards the garage, Stiles placed a hand on the other boy's shoulder. “Why don’t you show me where the kitchen is? We’ll see what we can do about dinner."

* * *

As he searched through the near-empty fridge and freezer, Stiles tried to explain the situation as best he could without outright saying _If it’s alright with you, Peter and I are going to kill your asshole father_.

“About what I was saying before-“ Stiles started. “I like you a lot. It’s an instinctual kind of thing - and Peter’s willing to give you the bite and get to know you. He’s a little picky these days. The last time he turned someone it didn’t go well - for anyone.” Stiles swallowed, trying not to think about it too hard. “But, he’ll give it a shot.

“And, if you don’t like it, we can set you up with a friendly pack. There are tons of very nice people who would love to take you in. And the bite generally takes with teenagers, so you’ve got a good chance there. But, _here_ ,” Stiles paused. “Christ, you guys have, like, _no_ food. Like some fucking crackers and cream of mushroom and tabasco sauce.”

Isaac winced and looked embarrassed. “We haven’t been to the store in a while.” 

Stiles sighed. “Not your fault. And I’m not mad.” He started digging through the freezer again. “At you. I’m not mad at you.” He pulled out a frozen brick of ground beef. “Hallelujah. Look, what I’m trying to say,” he began agin, dropping the mean on a plate to defrost in their old microwave. “My dad was a sheriff - did you know that?”

“Read that somewhere.” Isaac shrugged.

“Well, I learned from him that situations like this - uhm - domestic abuse kind of stuff.” Stiles sighed, growing more and more frustrated as he spoke, unsure of how to talk to the other boy about this. “Somebody dies generally. Somebody kills someone and, fuck, Isaac, I really like you and I just want to make sure it’s not you. So - fuck it, if it’s alright with you, Peter and I are gonna kill your asshole dad.” 

Isaac blinked as he tried to comprehend. “That’s...”

“I know. That was blunt. I should have warmed you up to the idea, but... I mean, that’s not really my style.” He took the meat out as the microwaved beeped, flipped it and put it back in. “We’re lucky you have eggs. Also, pie shells. I’m not judging, but the fact that you don’t have like noodles, or flour, or motherfucking _milk_ but you _do_ have pie shells is bizarre. Also, you don’t have milk? Like, what?

“Back to the point; your dad. It’s for your safety. I just want to make sure you’re safe. If you don’t want the bite, we’ll just get rid of him and you can call the cops and they’ll take care of you as best they can. But, Peter and I can take care of your better.”

“He’s my dad.” Isaac rasped.

Stiles bit his lip and took a step towards him before rethinking it and turning back to the fridge to take the eggs out. “Yeah. He’s your dad.”

“I don’t want to know what happens to him after I take the bite.” Isaac took the plate out of the microwave and put it next to Stiles, their shoulders brushing. 

Stiles smiled wide and then quickly tried to suppress that, nodding at the other boy. “Of course. You don’t ever have to know about it. Now, go get the pie shells.”

* * *

Peter pulled Isaac back into his room to discuss the bite and Stiles waited in the kitchen as dinner cooked. The front door was opened with a slam. 

“ _Isaac!_ ” Stiles thought the voice sounded unreasonably angry for someone coming back to a delicious smelling home. “Who the hell is parked in the garage?” 

“In here! That’d be me! In the kitchen!” Stiles called, checking the oven before making sure he had everything he needed. 

“Who the hell are you?” the man, presumably Isaac’s father, growled, joining him in the oven-warmed, bright kitchen. 

“ _You_ are obviously not a fan.” Stiles said, baring his teeth in a smile. “I’m Isaac’s new friend, Mr...?”

“Lahey.” The man gruffed, appraising the boy. After a moment, he said, “Isaac knows not to bring _friends_ ,” he said the word like he didn’t believe it, “Home.” 

“Gosh, he must have forgotten. Why don’t you sit down? I’m making dinner.” 

Mr. Lahey, still confused and annoyed to have a stranger in his kitchen, sat and finally took in the objects on the table.

“Why is there a baseball bat on my table?” he asked as if personally affronted by the object. 

“Oh, I play.” Stiles said, easily, resting his back against the warmth of the stove.

“Where is Isaac anyway?” Mr. Lahey asked, looking around, as if finally noticing that absence of his son.

“Oh, he’s reading something for me. I’m doing a project on childhood sexual abuse - for a summer class I’m taking - and he said he had a more in depth knowledge of the subject so I’m having him look over it for me.” He smiled at Mr. Lahey, the action even making it up to his eyes, giving the older man pause as he sat stiffly in the chair.

“I’ve just always wondered, Mr. Lahey, _why_ would someone wanna hurt their kid like that? I mean, I can certainly understand that violence has a sexual nature. There’s some link in the brain and all. But the desire to, on top of beat and terrorize and scare your kid - to _violate_ them in such an intimate way...” Stiles pushed off the oven and took a step towards the older man. “I guess some people are just sick.” 

Mr. Lahey made to stand but Stiles put one hand on his chest. “You don’t have anything to worry about, old man.” Slinking forward, his hands on the man’s shoulders, he straddled his hips, sitting down onto his lap. “After all, you like younger guys, don’t you?” Speaking, he leant in as if to kiss him but stopped, his lips just a breath away as he spoke. His eyes trailed over the man’s face. “Or is it just Isaac?”

One hand reached behind them as Stiles pressed his body against Mr. Lahey’s rigid one and ran his other fingers down his arm. “You can tell me - I’d understand. Isaac is gorgeous and sweet and I bet a big, bad man like yourself just wants to break something pretty once in a while. You can tell me. I like to make a mess too.” 

There was the sound of metal sliding behind them and, as Mr. Lahey was turning his head and starting to form the word ‘what,’ Stiles hooked and secured the cuff around one wrist. Reaching out before the man knew what hit him, he grabbed the other, cuffing it as well.

“What the _fuck_?” Stiles reached behind him again.

“It’s kinda weird that you didn’t notice the handcuffs on the table,” he smiled, pulling back a roll of duct tape. Hopping off of Mr. Lahey’s lap and corralling one flailing, kicking leg, he began to secure the man’s right shin to the leg of the chair. “Guess it just shows how many shades of messed up you are.” 

“Are you a fucking cop?” Mr. Lahey asked.

Stiles laughed, genuinely, and narrowly avoided a kick to the face. He stood and tore a bit of tape off to smack over the man’s mouth. “Do I look like a cop? Nah, I’m something much worse. I’m the serial killer son of a cop. So I have psychopathic tendencies and a misplaced sense of justice. I’m all sorts of fucked up; but I’ll never dream of comparing to you.” He knelt again to fasten the man’s other leg. 

“I honestly don’t know what disgusts me the most,” he said, not sounding too bitter but having lost his faked ease. “The fact the you fucked your son or that you locked him in a freezer. I mean, I know some people would say, obviously, the first one - and I’m not trying to disregard that, or even the physical violence. That boy is skittish as a beat horse. It’s the kind of behavior you’d expect from a dog at a rescue shelter, not a teenage boy.”

“But, the freezer thing, man. God - I can’t... My mate, he was in a coma for six years, right? He doesn’t like to talk to me about it - and that’s okay. I have my no-no topics too. So, I don’t know just how conscious he was for all of that. 

“But, it’s taken it’s toll on him. And, even without the rest, your son’s gonna be fucked for life. I mean, who does that? Why the fuck would you do that?

“And the freezer thing,” Stiles repeated, his lips pursing as he stood and moved behind him to better secure the still-struggling man’s arms. “Jesus, dude.” He didn’t say more until he paused, looking back down at the terrified, enraged man.

“What turned you on more? Locking him up or pinning him down? Did you use the threat of it to make him more compliant? God, I wonder if that would work on you.” 

Mr. Lahey moaned and nearly screamed at him through the tape. The boy smiled a little, and stared as if evaluating him.

“It was purely hypothetical. I don’t _need_ you compliant.” Stiles said. “I don’t _want_ you compliant.

“Originally my plan was to tie you up, line you up with the stairs to the basement and let you fall down backwards. The chair might break and you might break but you wouldn’t _die_ yet.” Through the gag, there was another groan and the man shook his head. He looked like he was crying, tears leaking from scrunched tight eyes. “I’d drag you to that disgusting appliance and throw you in. I’d probably stab you somewhere - one of those “bleed out in four hours” kind of places - and close the lid and chain it up.

“Problem with that is I wouldn’t watch you die. That’s not a requirement but, from what I’ve learned, if you don’t see someone die, there’s a good chance they’re not dead. One tiny stroke of luck in your favor might save you - a concerned neighbor calling the cops, Isaac relenting and wanting us to save you, _whatever_. And then you’d be alive and _I_ would have to deal with _that_. And I refuse.”

He walked around the man to the table to grab the bat. “So, I got this. I know, I know, it’s kinda cliche. But, it belonged to someone very close to me and, what can I say, I absolutely love thick, hard, phallic weapons.

“So, I’m gonna kill you with this. Which is a lot nicer than you deserve because I _should_ castrate you and keep you alive for months and wait until Isaac’s ready and have him do it himself. 

“But I have better things to do with my time, you know? Your sad, disgusting, awful life is only important to me right now because you’ve tried to use it to make Isaac’s as sad and disgusting and awful.”

He raised the bat and brushed it against the man’s temple. “I’d ask you if you had any last words but I don’t actually care. I don’t think I’m going to allow you any. Bye, Mr. Lahey.” And he pulled the bat back and _swung_. The chair and it’s inhabitant were knocked over, groaning, and so he brought the bat down again, pounding harder this time, trying to make more red. He did this seven times more.

Mr. Lahey wasn’t making any noise or movement and his head didn’t look much like a conventional head anymore, so Stiles started to drag him to the basement. The man’s blood smeared over his shirt. “Ugh, fucking heavy old man. _Peter_ ,” he called. 

His mate was instantly out of the boy’s room, shutting the door behind him.

“Little help?” Peter knelt down to pull the other man from the debris of his smashed kitchen chair and off the ground. “Get the door. I don’t want to leave the boy for long,” Peter said, “Gave him the bite maybe ten minutes ago.”

Stiles was already ahead of him, drawing open the door and descending the steps. “How’s he taking it?”

“Too early to say.” Peter frowned, following him down.

“Were we too loud?”

“No. Isaac didn’t seem to hear most of it. The first hit startled him but the bite has been occupying his mind a little more.”

Stiles was at the freezer, opening it up for Peter to dump Mr. Lahey in. They closed the lid and Stiles did up the chains, though he didn’t really understand why.

“You smell like him.” Peter stated, displeased.

“I’m sorry. We’ll fix that later. Right now, you or I need to get us a new car while someone watches Isaac.”

“I’ll stay.” the man said. “The neighbors have a car and they seemed to be out when I last checked.”

“Okay, thanks,” Stiles pressed a quick kiss on his mate’s mouth. Peter kissed him back but the scent was obviously bothering him. “I’m gonna steal a shirt from Isaac so I’m not walking around outside covered in blood and dead man’s scent. Make sure to help Isaac pack a bag. And pull my quiche out of the oven. I don't want it to burn.”

* * *

Stiles had successfully broken into Isaac’s neighbor’s car. Gutting the Laheys’ house and vehicle for anything of worth, he then helped Peter ease their most important acquisition to the backseat of their new vehicle. The other boy was flushed and sweating and seemed mostly out of it as they settled him in with a blanket and pillow. 

“Is this normal?” Stiles asked as he slipped into the driver’s seat and, after grabbing his kit from his backpack, jimmying a screw-driver into the steering column to start hot-wiring the car.

“It can vary.” Peter murmured, looking at the boy in the backseat. “He’s not taking the bite _well_ ,” he allowed, “But all hope is not lost.”

Stiles hadn’t even really considered Isaac not making it and tried to continue as he sparked the car to life.

* * *

“We’ll need to tell Derek immediately if Isaac makes it.” Peter said. 

Stiles grinned. “Yeah. He’ll want to know about his brand new Packmate.”

“Yes. It would also be polite to inform him that he’ll be having a new roommate in August.” 

The boy could feel his face fall as he took in these words. He stared at Peter, a look of annoyance creeping in. “What.”

“Isaac’s a teenager. He’ll need to finish to highschool. Education is important.” 

“But, I don’t-“

“You,” Peter interrupted, “Are my mate and therefore an adult in the eyes of the Pack. You made a choice to forgo your education for the time being because we have important work to be doing.”

“So, we’ll just ask him if he wants to come along with us or go live with Derek.”

“Because he is underage and has no mate, he’s not an adult. Therefore, he doesn’t get to make that decision.” Stiles narrowed his eyes and took in a breath to speak. “And, _no_ , we can _not_ find him a mate. For God’s sake, Stiles, you know it doesn’t work like that.” 

“You said,” Stiles began evenly, “That we could start a pack with anyone travel-ready. Pack should stay with _us_.”

“Obviously things don’t always work like that, do they?” Peter asked. “I didn’t ask you to choose the youngest person you could find. Really, are you trying to make me feel old?” 

“I can’t make you feel anything. You control your thoughts and emotions, Peter.” Stiles stated. His mate's eyes flared red as he growled.

Forcing control, the man said, “You’re being obstinate.”

“You’re being a dick!” Stiles snapped back. “Isaac is Pack. He should stay with us.” 

“He’s a teenager and he needs to be in school.” 

“This is taking so long - maybe he can help.”

“Oh, is this taking too long for you?” Peter’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he gripped the steering wheel and refused to look at his mate. “Are you getting impatient? God forbid, did _I_ get us off schedule by deciding we needed to build up Pack?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Stiles bit out. “You want Pack just much as I do. An alpha without a pack is weak. We need Isaac to help us get Kate.”

“We don’t need Isaac or Pack for that. I could easily do this alone.” 

Stiles glared and sat back in his seat, pausing. Finally, he snapped, “Well, maybe I should let you do that. He and I could _both_ go back to school. You could finally get me out of your hair. I’m sure I haven’t been helpful at all.”

Peter sighed. “You know that’s not true.”

“Oh, I’m sure I'm good for a fuck now and then.”

“Stiles,” Peter growled out, “Stop that.”

“No, you said what you meant. You don’t need my help. I’m just the weak, human mate. Unnecessary.” 

“Stiles, I’m not trying to send you away. We're talking about the Isaac, who is a teenager, and needs to finish school.”

“I just want him to be with us,” Stiles stressed.

“Think about what this would mean for Derek. He’ll finally have someone with him. Do you want Derek to be lonely?” Peter asked.

Stiles groaned, a hand rubbing over his eyes. “That’s not _fair_ -“

“God, you two fight like normal people.” Isaac moaned in the back of the car. “Do you do this often? Because, please, send me away to Derek if you do.” 

Stiles and Peter both stopped and sat back very still, as if surprised to be reminded that they weren’t alone in the car. After a breath, Stiles burst out into shaky laughter and Peter had to smile as the tension in the car slowly dissipated.

* * *

After forcing him to eat (Stiles pulling a _I worked very hard on this_ ), Isaac slept through most of the transition. Peter and Stiles drove through the night and only stopped early in the morning to switch cars. 

Isaac was blearily blinking into alertness as Peter drove around the city looking for food.

“One CD.” Stiles bitched. “One fucking CD, Peter. And Isaac. Guys.” Stiles corrected himself, accommodating for extra company. He turned his attention back to the disc with a look of distaste. “Not even a real CD. It’s just someone’s burnt disc. All it says is _Recital_. It’s probably just some asshole reading, like, a fucking grocery list or shitty beat poetry or something.” 

“Stiles, there is always the radio.” Peter reminded him.

“Man, I’m starving.” Isaac groaned in the backseat. Stiles pushed the disc in and turned. 

“We’re working on it, buddy.” he assured him. “How are you feeling?”

“Strong. But, really tired.” 

The track started to play and a recording of a piano picked up. Stiles looked over at Peter, confusion evident on his face as a chorus of children all joined in to sing. Stiles started laughing.

“Shit, this is the best thing I’ve ever heard!” he grinned.

“I’m putting on the radio.” Peter growled, obviously not enjoying the country children’s chorus as much as his mate. Stiles smacked his hand down.

“It’s staying on,” he stated, a warning but steady smile on his face. Peter made a show of putting his hands back on the steering wheel as he pulled into a drive-thru.

“That’s fucking _right_.” Stiles said, his mate rolling his eyes but seeming more amused than annoyed.

* * *

Isaac nearly collapsed on the motel bed. Stiles and Peter exchanged a glance before Peter kissed him once, briefly, took the room key, and left the two boys alone. 

Moving to his side, his cheek resting on his arm, Isaac watched as Stiles placed their bags on the ground and started to unpack into a little drawer underneath the shitty television. “Where’s he going?”

“He’s gonna get rid of the car. He’ll drive it deep into the woods or a lake or a few towns over. We’ll stay here a couple of days; Peter and I need to figure out our next course of action.”

“How’s Peter gonna get back?”

Stiles blinked at him like it was obvious. “He’s going to run. Wolves can’t be cooped up for so long. They’ll get antsy. In a night or so, you’ll probably be running with Peter too.”

“Yeah, I’m not really feeling up for that now.” Isaac chuckled softly as Stiles came to join him on the bed. The other boy got very quiet, though, when Stiles lay down next to him. He turned his face into his arm a little more and looked shy and nervous and so young. Stiles wanted to turn his face towards the other boy’s and huddle close to him and pet a hand down his side and tell him _**shh** it’s alright_. Instead, he flipped over to his back to stare at the ceiling. 

“I hardly know anything about you, Isaac.”

“Well actually,” the other boy said with that pseudo-positivity used to cover up hurt, “You know a lot more about me than anyone else, so...”

Frowning, Stiles peeked over at him before fixing his gaze upwards. “You’re a lot more than what happened to you.”

Isaac was quiet for a few seconds. “What if I’m disappointing?”

Stiles sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows to look down at the other boy. “Whoever you are is going to be perfect, because you’re Pack. You could never disappoint me.” 

“You sure about that?” Isaac asked, his voice hard, like he was already preparing himself for abandonment.

“ _Yes_.” Stiles finalized. “If there was a conflict of personalities among us and you wanted to leave, Peter and I would help you find another Pack. But we wouldn’t be mad at you or feel, like, let down or whatever. You’re you and that’s awesome and I don’t want you to worry about us not liking you, because we will. A growing Pack welcomes all types... Which makes us sound like we have low standards - which we don’t - look, what I _am_ trying to say is that you’re okay and - yeah - that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Isaac’s lips tightened as if he thought Stiles’s speech was funny and didn’t want to laugh. He nodded once and managed out a, “Right.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and lay back down.

“I don’t know much about you and Peter either, you know?” Isaac commented, still watching the other boy with an intent curiosity. 

“What are you talking about? You know all about us.”

“I know what they say in the papers - and that’s mostly current news stuff and any relevant background information. At most, they’ll have your basic tabloid speculation but most of that stuff is like Peter is trained in Krav Maga-“

Stiles scoffed. “That’s a lie.”

“Or, like, you killed a man for touching your car.”

“Oh, no,” Stiles face lit up as he corrected him, knowing exactly which story this was. “See, I killed that man by making him touch my car.” Isaac stared at him, his features becoming more and more confused as he tried to figure out what that meant. “I ran him over with my jeep.” 

“Oh,” Isaac said. “ _Oh_.” he repeated. “Do, uh... Do I have to kill people?” 

“Absolutely not,” Stiles rushed. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t like. I mean, we do a lot more than kill people.”

“What, exactly, do you do?” Isaac finally asked. 

Stiles lowered the pitch of his voice and said in earnest. “Saving people. Hunting things. The family business.” He then grinned. “I’ve wanted to say that for so long, you have no idea. Really. This isn’t what we really want to be doing - I mean, we _want_ to, that’s why we’re here - but if we had the choice, we’d probably be back in California with Derek,” He rethought it and added, “Or somewhere else, probably not anywhere near California, building up Pack. But we gotta find Kate Argent.” 

“Who?”

“Ugh - the megabitch. She’s - she’s just done a lot of bad shit and I’m sure you’ll hear all about it as time goes on but, right now, all you need to know is that she’s killed a lot of people.” He swallowed and kept his voice neutral. “A lot of our family. So, we’re trying to find and stop her. Along the way, sure, we’re taking down some hunters and the occasional omega who’s causing shit.

“But, to be fair, a lot of our time is spent in cars and motel rooms.” He sent a cheeky smile to Isaac. “So, it’s not all bad. We always find time to have a little fun.” 

“Does Peter ever let you top?” Isaac asked, peeking over at him.

Stiles flared, but it was mostly for show. “ _Let?_ There is not _let_. Sure, Peter tops way more than I do but, if and when I want to, all I have to say is ‘Peter, let’s switch it up,” and we do.” He rolled his eyes and snorted, “ _Let_. Who the fuck do you think runs this rodeo?”

Isaac grinned in a shy little show of teeth, “Well...”

“And don’t say Peter or I swear to God I’ll smack you.” Stiles froze the second the word was out of his mouth. “Shit. I didn’t - I mean - shit.” 

Isaac didn’t say anything, his focus falling on his fingers which had since been curled up by his elbow. They were now closer to his wrist, tapping on the bed in fidgety, sharp movements. He seemed more embarrassed than upset.

“Truth be told,” Stiles admitted. “I’m way more likely to be the disappointment. I have, like, no filter. Things just, like, _spew_ from my mouth. It’s awful. I’m awful. Also, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Isaac murmured.

“Really. That wasn’t cool of me and I’m an idiot.” 

“Hey,” Isaac said, sidling up close to him. “I said it’s okay.” Stiles was silent and still, gazing at him with wide eyes and parted lips, as if having the boy next to him came as a surprise. Isaac placed a hand lightly on the side of his face and guided him down, his lips finding Stiles’s warm and light and undemanding.

Surging forward with a control that was probably new and instinctual, Isaac paused as if shocked that he had been able to so gracefully roll the other boy onto his back before kissing him again, deeper but still soft and slow. When Stiles made a quiet sound in the back of his throat, Isaac bent down to nuzzle at it’s source, mouthing at his neck before scenting him just below his jaw.

“God, you smell like sex.” Isaac exhaled. “I thought it was just the car or the room. Are you like this all the time?” 

Stiles looked proud. “Peter says so. He seems to like it.”

Isaac buried his face in his neck again, humming in contentment. “You smell like sex and spice and smoke and ash.” 

Stilling under him, as the other boy kissed down his neck, he murmured, “No, that’s Peter. You’re smelling Peter on me.” 

Making the same soft sound, Isaac simply said, “It’s good,” as he peeked back up at Stiles. Stiles had to smile and nudge him up so they could kiss again.

“Wanna fuck me?” Stiles hushed against his lips.

“Uhm...” Isaac looked uncertain and quite suddenly nervous again.

“My mouth?” Stiles amended. “You wanna fuck my mouth? It might relax you and tomorrow you’d be all rested and ready to go.”

Isaac was still hesitant, giving off waves of discomfort, and sat up so he was straddling the other boy’s legs. He looked around the room, at anything but Stiles.

“We could just do this if you wanted. Or watch some TV or-“

“No, I’d like to... This. Is it okay if we just do this?” 

Stiles smiled at him, and the gesture was too impossibly fond for someone he had just met. “That’s okay. That’s more than okay.” He kissed the other boy, slowly opening up his mouth, coaxing out Isaac’s tongue, sucking and biting at his lower lip. 

“I could get used to coming back to this.” a smooth voice at the door said. 

“Peter!” Stiles beamed, squirming out from under Isaac and hopping off the bed to give Peter a quick peck on the lips. “The car go okay?”

“Perfectly.” Peter hummed, his hands on Stiles’s waist and lower back as he pulled him in close to scent him.

“How was your run?” 

“Exhilarating.” The man ran his tongue just below his mate's ear before grazing the boy’s lobe with his teeth. Stiles swatted him on the shoulder lightly. 

“Stop that.” he scolded, his eyes darting over to Isaac, who was watching them from the bed. “You seem to be forgetting that we have company.”

Isaac shrugged. “I don’t really mind.”

Stiles could feel Peter huff in amusement against his neck. One hand worked into the front of his jeans. “Really, Isaac, it’s cool. We can stop and-“ Peter stroke up the front of his boxers, nipping under his jaw. “ _Guh_ \- uhm - something.” Peter finally pulled back, looking smug. “What were we talking about?”

“Seriously, it’s cool. I’d actually kind of really like-“ Isaac cut himself off, sounding understandably embarrassed. “I mean, I don’t mind.” 

“Well, if it’s what _you_ want,” Stiles reasoned, “Then who am _I_ to deny you?” 

“Exactly.” Peter agreed, pulling Stiles’s shirt over his head.

Isaac scooted up to the head of the bed, his back against the wall, as Peter sat down. He pulled Stiles to him, his fingers hooked in the boy’s belt loops. He kissed his mate, just under his left nipple and down his stomach and over his navel, as deft fingers unclasped and unzipped his jeans.

With a sudden sense of urgency, Stiles bent down to tug Peter’s shirt off of him, distracting the man from his task. Peter, in turn, helped Stiles doff his pants and boxers before pulling the boy into his lap. 

Peter’s hands gripped under his thighs, blunt fingers digging into flesh, as the boy’s erect cock rubbed against his mate, smearing precome onto his stomach.

“Isaac,” Peter said, his voice thick as Stiles kissed down his jaw and bit playfully at his neck. Growling, he slapped one hand down onto the boy’s asscheek after a particularly hard nip. Stiles whined, his body jerking, but the sound was all surprise and pleasure and no pain. He finished through grit teeth, “Could you please get the lube from my bag?”

“Drawer,” Stiles murmured as Isaac scrambled off the bed to fetch. He fiddled with his mate’s belt. “Why do you even wear this?” he hissed. “Belts are stupid.”

“I like to watch you struggle.” Peter said offhandedly.

“You’re a dick.” Stiles declared as Peter reached down to help him with the buckle. 

“Hmm, you don’t really dislike dicks, though, do you?” Peter hummed out, one hand coming to grope at the boy’s ass.

Stiles pulled a face. “Very classy, Peter. Truly, I’m astounded.” His mate ran a finger over his hole. 

“I”m sure your poor, delicate sensibilities will recover.” Peter smirked as he took the lube from Isaac. “Thank you,” he said, glancing at him briefly. Isaac stood over them for a second too long, breathing shallowly, his lips parted, as he watched Peter uncap the bottle of lube and slick up his fingers. Stiles peeked over at him and Isaac flushed even more, hurrying back to his spot on the bed. 

Peter started to nudge his way into his boy. Stiles dug into his mate’s shoulders, biting his lip to keep from moaning, as Peter curled his two fingers inside of him. He shot up like a bottle rocket once the man pushed down more, petting over the sweetest spot he had. Panting, he rocked his hips down to meet Peter’s fingers and the man eased another wet digit into the boy’s heat. 

“Come on,” Stiles urged, hot in his mate’s ear, “Let’s go.”

“Ask politely.”

Stiles huffed and whined and Peter scissored him open. “ _Please_ , fuck me, you cocksucker.” His mate twisted his fingers harshly inside of him. “God fucking damn it, Peter!” Stiles hissed.

“ _Politely_.” Peter stressed, baring his teeth in a smile before leaning forward to nip and suck at the boy’s nipple.

Stiles groaned helplessly. “ _Please_ , Peter. Please fuck me. Come on.” He cupped his mate’s face in his hands and guided him up. The kiss he pressed on Peter’s mouth was messy and desperate and he broke into a soft mewl as Peter curled his three fingers again. “ _Please, Peter_ ,” he begged.

Growling, Peter tore at his own pants with his free hand, unzipping and forcing them down just enough to take his erection out. Gently pulling his fingers out of Stiles, he grabbed the previously tossed aside bottle of lube and slicked up his cock. His mate’s arms were loosely draped over the man’s shoulders while he, hands gripping the boy’s slender hips, pushed in slowly.

A moan from across the bed caught both of their attention as Peter thrust sharply in the rest of the way and Stiles cried out, his eyes darting to Isaac. He was settled in his spot against the wall, his pants open at the zipper, one hand dipping in as he stroked himself beneath his underwear. 

Stiles licked his lips as he watched the other boy through half-lidded eyes groan again at the sight of the two in front of him and the feel of his own palm. His eyes still locked with Isaac, Stiles bounced once on his mate’s cock. Peter hissed and kneaded his fingers into the boy’s ass, holding on as Stiles did it again, his own dick bobbing between them until Peter brought a hand down to cup it. 

Resting his head on Peter’s shoulder, moaning, Stiles set the pace, pulling up quickly and sitting back into the man’s lap hard, as he, in turn, worked the boy in his hand and mouthed mindlessly at his mate’s neck. 

Isaac met his gaze across the room and Stiles sent him a brief, panting smile before burying his face in the man’s neck, near-sobbing as Peter slammed up into him, harder than before. His thrusts back into his boy were growing erratic and his hand jacking Stiles off was trying harder and harder to get him to shoot.

“Fuck, Peter-“ he moaned, his voice softly wrecked.

“Shh,” Peter hushed out in his ear. “Just come for me.” Stiles whined and his mate restated. “Come for us.” and Stiles spilled all over his mate’s hand with a soft cry. Pounding his hips up a few more times, Peter came as well, growling, as they listened to Isaac’s own breathy, moaning release. 

Stiles sagged on his lap, his forehead resting on his mate’s shoulder. Carefully, Peter lay him down on the bed and left to the bathroom for a towel. Isaac crawled over to the exhausted boy and nosed at his neck a little. Stiles hummed and turned his head to facilitate better nuzzling, one hand coming to pet idly through Isaac’s hair. 

Isaac’s scenting of him drew him down the other boy’s chest and stomach until he was nestled just to the side of his cock, nose tucked into soft curls, inhaling deeply. Quite abruptly, Stiles’s legs were being pushed up and back as Isaac came to mouth at his hole. 

Stiles moaned, a low, anguished sound of pleasure, as Isaac lapped at Peter’s spill, licking and sucking at the boy’s swollen entrance. “Jesus, Isaac,” he breathed, feeling his cock twitch with interest. “Where the fuck is this coming from?” 

Growling - like a fucking _wolf_ , Stiles noted with no small amount of pride - Isaac glanced up to him and his eyes were glowing yellow. There was the slightest show of fangs in his parted open mouth. The sight of it had Stiles groaning and rocking his hips back as Isaac bowed his head to the boy’s rim again, cleaning him up.

“God, Isaac, you’re so good.” Stiles hushed out, his eyes shutting lightly as his head titled back against the bed. “You’re such a good boy.” The endearment was murmured thoughtlessly, Stiles barely registering the words as he spoke them. 

But, Isaac got very still, his head still down, his grip on the other boy’s legs tightening and turning bruising. Panic was flaring up in Stiles’s spine even before claws began to extend and press into the flesh of his thighs.

“Isaac, stop it.” he said, as firmly as he could. He squirmed on his back, trying to pull his legs away, but Peter was already there, one steady hand on Isaac’s neck and the other on his wrists, gently easing him away. 

“That’s enough, Isaac. You don’t want to hurt him.” Peter, sounding calm and grounding and unaffected, was able to pull him back and away from his mate. Stiles scooted up the bed, eyes stuck on Isaac, as Peter sat next to the boy so they were eye level. He spoke very clearly, in a hush.

“I want you to breath with me,” he stated, and the only sign he displayed of nerves was one quick, appraising glace over at Stiles before his eyes rested back on Isaac. He said steadily, “Breathe in. Now out. In.” He nodded once Isaac seemed to catch the pace and begin to come down. “That’s fine, Isaac. You’re doing just fine.” 

Isaac exhaled and blinked a few times, seeming a little dazed. His attention slowly turned to Stiles and he was sudden full of desperate apologizes. He looked down at his hands instead of the other boy, frantic words tumbling from his mouth.

“No,” Stiles said, a little stiffly as he felt his own panic begin to subside. “It’s alright. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Isaac shook his head fervently. “You didn’t know. Couldn’t have known.” Isaac bit his lip, cutting himself off, looking like he meant to say more. Instead, after a pause, he just said, “I’m really sorry.”

“This was neither of your’s fault.” Peter said, hands finally falling from Isaac’s neck and arm. “Nothing happened. Everyone is fine.”

“Yeah,” Stiles added. “We all just gotta learn a little more about each other. It’s okay.”

Isaac, finally, peeked up at him and, realizing he wasn’t going to get punished, stopped looking so scared. Stiles sent a weak, tired smile to him as Peter made his way to the head of the bed next to him. He settled in behind his mate, who made grabby hands at the other boy until Isaac got the message and crawled up to him as well. 

They managed to get under the covers, Peter spooning his mate, his arm wrapping around Stiles’s waist. The boys’ legs only tangled together, as if nervous to get too close.

“Pants,” Stiles mumbled to Isaac a Peter turned off the lamp. “Off.” He then blinked his eyes open and stiffly added, “Unless you want them on. Which is totally okay too.” But Isaac was already shucking and tossing them aside. He cuddled in a little closer to the other boy, still holding back as if worried he might be unwelcome. 

Stiles just murmured out something incoherent and nudged Isaac closer, rearranging everyone’s limbs until he didn’t know where Peter ended and Isaac began.

* * *

Peter had felt a little uncertain about training with Isaac. He had tried to direct their efforts towards more passive activities - Peter guiding the boy though focus and control exercises - until after a day or so when Stiles shooed them out of the motel room stating that they could, “Have their werewolf Karate Kid moment outside because some people had actual research-work to do.”

So, Peter took him to a small, forested area a little ways away from the motel and Isaac, seeming mildly exasperated, finally demanded, “Peter, teach me how to fight.”

Peter raised his eyebrows and tossed their duffel bag off to the side.

“This meditative, inner zen, focus away your wolf-self is fine and all but I want to learn how to fight.”

“First off,” Peter corrected, “Your “wolf-self” doesn’t “go away” when you’re controlling the shift.” Isaac rolled his eyes, trying to signify that that wasn’t the point. Peter continued regardless, “You will always have your instinct and your drive. What I’m trying to do is make sure you don’t lose control and accidently hurt someone.” He did not mention the close call with Stiles but allowed the idea to hang between them. Isaac kicked at the dirt, trying to ignore it.

“And that’s really great. I need that. But, now, I want you to teach me how to _purposefully_ hurt someone.”

“Are you worried that you’re going to need to?” Peter asked, taking a step towards the boy who tracked him carefully but remained silent. “That’s not why Stiles and I brought you in.” he reminded him.

“I,” Isaac hesitated. “I know... I just don’t want to be powerless.”

“Do you feel powerless?” Peter cocked his head to the side.

Slowly, “No... I just - I’m not sure _how_.”

“Of course you know how. You have all the advantages in a fight. You have the instinct and strength of a wolf and the intelligence of a man. We can work on technique all you want, but when you can master the shift, remain in control when you turn, you’ll be able to best anyone you fight.”

“Even you?”

Peter laughed. “I sincerely hope not. What kind of Alpha would I be if my Betas could beat me sparring?” He managed to get a smile out of Isaac, before asking, “So, do you want to try this?” 

Isaac nodded and bent at the knees as if ready to lunge forward. There was a still moment before, both assessing the other, until the boy bared his teeth and snarled, like a puppy play-fighting - the effect being about as threatening and endearing. Nevertheless, Peter widened his stance, giving Isaac a second to spring forward, trying to get the first hit in. 

A little too roughly, Peter slammed him onto his back. Momentarily, he froze, worried that it might be too much. However, as he took in the face under him, he only saw elation lighting Isaac's face as the boy hopped back up and, similar to a small child shouting _again, again!_ , he got in position to attack.

However, just as they were getting ready to go again, Peter put a hand to pause them, his face turning towards the sound of footsteps. 

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Isaac said. “Who is it?”

“It’s Stiles and two others.”

“How far away-“ But Isaac didn’t finish the question as Stiles came into view, his hands over his head and a man and woman, both armed, followed behind him a few paces.

Stiles had a black eye and a split lip, but he looked more annoyed then anything else as he trampled towards his Pack. Peter moved to meet him, hand already raised to take his pain, but the man barked out a, “Stay where you are!” as the woman came to stand directly behind Stiles, the muzzle of her gun pressed against his back.

“That him?” the woman asked. One-handed, the man fished a flyer out of his pocket and looked between it and Isaac. “Sure is.” He put the piece of paper away. “There’s a rumor goin’ around that you two perverts’d kidnaped a kid but we didn’t think you-all were stupid enough to have actually done it.” 

“Pot. Kettle. Black.” Stiles breathed out. 

“What the fuck did you say?” the woman demanded, jamming her gun harder into Stiles’s back. 

“Nothing,” he bit out.

“What the fuck did you just say?” she repeated, cocking the hammer.

“I said Peter stay back!” he hurried. “I said Peter stay back - these people mean business.”

The man and woman seemed pleased enough with this response. 

“Why’d you take the kid, Peter?” the man asked. “Wasn’t one enough for you?”

“One’s never enough for his type.” the woman stated, as if imparting a great wisdom, her voice drawling and sticky.

“His is getting kinda old too, in’it? Must take away half the deviancy once it’s legal - and it’s almost there.” 

“Thank God,” Stiles weighed in. “Maybe once I am he’ll finally put a ring on this.”

“What was that, bitch? I don’t remember him talking to any wolf’s fuckhole.” the woman barked.

“At least call me a warm, experienced fuckhole,” Stiles protested. “Give me _that_ at least.”

“For God’s sake, Stiles, _stop talking_.” Peter growled out, his fists clenching at his mate’s recklessness. It was like the boy had forgotten, couldn’t feel, the gun at his back. Stiles looked over at him seriously and shut his mouth.

“I’m so glad you two showed up!” Isaac gushed, the words desperate and grateful and possibly, mildly, hysterical. He took one step forward before hesitating and looking at the couple with pleading, big eyes. “They were going to _kill me_.”

“Why don’t you come over here, boy?” the man said. “I know what they done to you ain’t been pleasant but it’s all over now. Everything for them is all over.” 

Isaac quickly crossed to the couple. He came to stand in between the man and woman, his eyes slowly trailing between their guns. He saw Stiles biting his lip to keep from smiling and effectively looking close to tears.

“You’re safe now,” the woman said, smiling at the boy and looking away from Stiles. She noticed his gaze catching on her weapon and beamed a little brighter. “Ah, this - you don’t have to worry about this. We ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“It’s just... My dad taught me to shoot - and they killed -“ his voice broke, “And he’s _gone_ now. I just... I wanted to maybe...”

“Ah, hell, Marylee, the kid wants to take a shot at them. It’s only fair.”

The woman shrugged and jerked her head for Isaac to come and take her spot behind the piece. “She’s got a good weight to her but it’s a little heavy at first for most people.” 

“I think I can manage,” Isaac assured her, taking the weapon from her hands. She let it go and stepped back, a satisfied, smug look settling in her eyes and the corners of her lips, and then fell back on her ass as Isaac butted the gun against her face.

The man was only just starting to shout, readying to fire, when Isaac was on him, muzzle pressing up under his chin. 

“You should drop your gun.” Isaac suggested.

“What’d they do to you, boy?” the man growled. “Brainwashed you?”

Isaac bared his teeth in a snarling, vicious grin. His eyes flashed yellow as he leaned forward. “Let’s just say I’m family.”

Behind him Stiles, who had been busy restraining the woman, exchanged a look with his mate. Peter was thrilled to note, as they broke their gaze and he turned to the bag to dig out some rope, just how happy the boy looked to hear someone say that. Pulling a few lengths out, he bridged the gap between them to press a quick, chaste kiss onto Stiles’s lips, making the woman under his mate hoarse out a noise of disgust, before handing him some rope and going to help Isaac. 

“Drop your gun.” Isaac reiterated. 

The man sneered. “Your just gonna kill us anyway.” 

“Not necessarily. If your nice and cooperative, we just might let you and that poor excuse for a woman live to see tomorrow.” Peter said, amiably. “Stiles and I have left numerous hunters alive.” He stated, wrapping one hand around the barrel of the gun and slowly tugging it away as the man let go. He jerked the man’s arm around after tossing aside the piece, beginning to tie him up as well. “In fact, the last hunters we came into contact with remained relatively unharmed.”

“I heard your bitch sucked the eyes out of that hunter’s head and then used the gunk to prep himself for your bitch-knotter.”

Isaac looked at Peter sharply. “What the fuck is a bitch-knotter?” Peter shook his head as Stiles audibly sighed.

“What the fuck is up with this rumor mill? And I thought _high school_ was bad. That is so disgusting I don’t even know what to do with myself.” He finished securing the woman’s wrists and ankles and started to pat her down for other weapons. He pulled out a wallet and car keys from her pocket, looking triumphant. “I mean, where did you even hear that?”

Peter kicked the man to the ground, following him down to secure his legs. Isaac finally lowered the gun and Stiles, standing, having determined that the woman was defenseless, came to him. He cupped the boy’s face in his hands and kissed him.

“That was very smart of you.” Stiles murmured against his lips. Pulling back, “I probably could have died, so... Thanks.”

Isaac looked down, bashful. “I didn’t do anything. If they hadn’t thought I was in danger in the first place I wouldn’t have been able to help.”

Stiles tsked. “I’m gonna thank you properly for this later. Whether or not you admit it, I’m not rocking the dead look right now because of you. And, plus, we’re family. That deserves all sorts of thanks.” Stiles grinned at him and pecked another kiss on his lips.

The woman, viewing more than she could bear, let out a hollow, disgusted sound. “You're evil, you sick son of bitch pervert.” 

Stiles turned his attention to her, still smiling as his eyes turned cold. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was talking to an over-made up, redneck cockwhore. I generally don’t tolerate the opinions or presence of a person who’ll recognize gender and humanity in a gun and not another human being.”

“You let a dog fuck you. You’re no human being.” the woman scoffed.

Stiles narrowed his eyes, but worked to keep his voice light. “You let a pig fuck you.” he stated, looking over at her husband, “But I figure that’s your business.” 

“You dumb fuckhole-”

Stiles stomped up to her and smacked her hard across the face. “That’s _Mr._ Fuckhole to you, you white trash, hill-billy filth. I am the mate of an Alpha, and you will fear and respect me as you fear and respect him - or you _would_ if you weren’t an ignorant shit-for-brains hick.”

Instead of responding, she spit in his face. Wiping it off, he held out a hand to Isaac. “Give me the gun.”

Isaac looked back at Peter who stood abruptly, growling, “Stiles-”

“I wanna fucking _kill her!_ ” he shouted, turning to his mate.

“If you kill her we aren’t going to get any information out of them.”

“They’re fucking idiots, Peter!” Stiles yelled, gesturing at the woman behind him, as if her very physical presence proved him right. “They don’t know anything! The world doesn’t need any more idiots!” 

“Be that as it may,” Peter said, calmly, taking a step towards his seething, young mate. “We don’t have any leads. We have no idea where to look next.” He ran a hand down the boy’s arm and leaned in, whispering hot in his ear, “And you’re all worked up. You know shooting her won’t resolve half of your tension. We’ll have a lot more _fun_ ,” he purred the word, pulled back just enough to see the way his mate bit his lip and flushed just the tiniest bit, "If we take our time. You know that.”

“But did you see what she did?” Stiles asked softly.

Peter nodded. “Yes. No one disrespects you and gets away with it, and she _won’t_. Stiles, I would rip her limb from limb if I didn’t know this was your kill - but you just have to wait.” 

Stiles was quiet, his eyes searching Peter’s face until he nodded once. “Isaac, go back to the motel.” 

“What-” the boy started.

Stiles turned to him. “Isaac, you were so go- so helpful, and I can’t thank you enough. But, now, we need you to take the guns and go back to the room and pack for us, okay? I promise, Peter and I will be fine.”

Isaac looked a little disheartened but, after a moment, picked up the other gun and turned to leave. Once the boy was far enough away, Peter nodded to Stiles. 

Stiles dragged the man so he was sitting up and squatted down in front of him so they were eye level. 

“What’s your name, partner?” Stiles drawled, imitating his accent, flicking the brim of the man’s baseball cap. The man didn’t look amused.

“Chuck,” he harshed, his wrists working steadily at their binds. 

“And what about your ladyfriend, _Chuck?_ ” Stiles grinned, like his name was funny. 

Chuck looked over at the woman on the ground. “My _wife_. Marylee.”

“Marylee.” Stiles repeated, nodding. He stood. “You two seem mighty far away from home if those accents are anything to go by. What are you doing in the area?”

Chuck said nothing.

“I’m gonna scream.” Marylee hissed. “I swear to God, I’m going to scream and everyone’s gonna come and find you and kill you if you don’t let us go now.”

“Okay,” Stiles shrugged. “Go for it. But, and this is assuming anyone hears you and cares, no one’s gonna come investigate a woman screaming deep in the woods until they have a sizeable search party together. So, by the time they even start to come looking for you, you’ll be long dead and we’ll be long gone.” He looked back at Peter and smiled. His mate returned the gesture. 

“So, now that we’re all acquainted and cosy, I’m sure we can agree to have a nice, quiet discussion. We just have a couple of questions and we’ll let you go when we’re done with them.” Stiles assured them. 

Getting no response, he asked, his voice rising, “Can I get an Amen?” 

“ _Yes_.” Chuck bit out, like it hurt.

Stiles hummed. “Good.” He gave Peter a flourishing forward gesture, allowing him to take over.

“Are you familiar with Kate Argent?” Peter asked cooly.

“Who?” the man looked at his wife, who shrugged, just as confused.

“Do you know any hunters in the Argent family?” Peter continued.

“No.” Chuck said.

“And what are you doing in the area?” 

Chuck and Marylee both clammed up, sharing a look. Peter and Stiles exchanged on of their own. 

“Now, I am just _dying_ to know the answer to that question,” Stiles said. 

“We’re going to a couples' retreat.” Marylee answered.

“Just a couples' retreat?” Peter clarified.

Marylee looked over at Chuck, who nodded fervently. “Yes. Normal couples.”

Stiles snorted as Peter sighed a little. The boy explained, “First rule of hunting: You get good at lying or you don’t lie to werewolves, you inbred fucks.”

They were both silent.

“You got kids?” Stiles asked.

Marylee said, “No.”

“Good. Don’t procreate. In fact, I think it could be arranged that Peter and I make sure you don’t spread your genes to the next generation, if you like. What do you think, Peter?” Stiles asked, inclining his face to his mate. “You feel up for a castration today?” 

Marylee made a loud, enraged noise of protest as her husband sat very still, quiet, looking between the two other men carefully, as if they might strike at any time. 

“I’m never opposed.” Peter said.

“You _sick fucks_ ,” Marylee spit, unable to fully contain her anger, her face turning red. “Do you get off on shit like this?”

“Hmm, not really. But I don’t expect a frigid bitch like yourself to understand getting off. Your poor husband.” Stiles turned his attention back to Chuck. “When’s the last time you got off? I bet it’s hard with a cold cunt like that in your bed. Bet you’d beg for my warm hole if you could just remember how good one felt. After all,” he said, kneeling before Chuck, licking his lips, “It’s not all about breeding, is it?”

Chuck looked terrified and his wife disgusted. Stiles crawled forward on his hands and knees as the man tried to wriggle away. 

“Peter, come hold him for me.” Stiles said. His mate did come to kneel behind the other man, firm hands keeping him in place. 

“So,” Stiles started, his voice perky as he sat back on his heels for a minute, only a breath away from the man. “You can either tell us what sort of retreat this really is or I can make you come faster and harder than you have since you were a teenager. Now, I know what I’d pick but I’m guessing you’ve got some “no homo” hang ups and I don’t know if you could go back to such a poor fuck as her afterwards. But, that really is _your_ problem.” He reached forward to rub up Chuck’s thigh and then over the crotch of his jeans. The man started to struggle helplessly, little cries of breath punching out of his lungs. 

“So, what’ll it be, Chuck?” Stiles began to unzip the man’s pants. “You wanna tell us where you’re going or do you want me to make you come with my mouth?”

Chuck didn’t reply, looked trapped, so Stiles shrugged, pulling his limp cock out of his underwear. “Oh, well. You could have just asked me to suck you off.” He started to work the man up. “I get it can be hard to ask, but did you see how excited he got when he thought he was saving Isaac?” Stiles smiled up at his mate.

His mate smirked. “I could smell him from yards away. The way his body heated." He leaned in to purr hot against the man's ear, "It was near _sinful_." 

Stiles lowered his mouth to the man’s half-hard cock, licking up the side and sucking the tip into his mouth, before bobbing his head down, feeling it stiffen and grow erect under his tongue. 

“ _Stop_ ,” Chuck said, near-breathless from fear and sensation. 

Stiles hummed and the man grit his teeth to keep from making any more noise.

“We’re going to Wyoming.” Marylee cut in, her voice desperate and shrill. Stiles pulled off of Chuck’s dick with a slick pop, raising his head just enough to give her his attention. “There’s a group of new hunter couples that are meeting up. All of the information for it is on a printout in his pocket. Now, stop, _please stop_.”

Stiles wiped the spit off of his chin as Peter stood and let the man fall boneless to the ground. He gave the boy a hand up and then bent forward to fish through Chuck’s pocket. He read over it quickly before nodding. Stiles came to glance at it over his shoulder.

“We do good?” he asked.

Peter shrugged and took the boy’s hand, beginning to lead him back to the motel room. “Let’s go see.”

* * *

They had left the motel almost immediately, Peter sniffing out which truck was Marylee and Chuck’s. They loaded in and took off towards Wyoming, fielding most of the questions Isaac posed with frustratingly vague answers. After about an hour of driving, Peter pulled over at a convenience store and let Isaac buy whatever he wanted as an apology. 

Getting back in to the car and starting down the road again, Stiles pushed a CD into the player.

“What’s that?” Peter asked. Stiles looked over at him and smiled as the disc was read. Peter repeated, calmly, “Stiles, what the fuck is that?”

A piano picked up and Peter growled. He turned to his mate sharply, eyes off of the road for too long as he asked an enraged, “ _You kept it?_ ” The children started to sing. “ _No_.” he refused. “Turn this off.”

Stiles turned in his seat, beaming at Isaac.

“Isaac, isn’t this _precious?_ ”

Isaac looked wary and mildly annoyed, putting down the magazine he’d forced Peter to buy. “It was somewhat precious the first time. This is easily the twentieth time I have had to listen to this song and it is definitely not precious anymore.” 

“Psh,” Stiles waved him off. “You woudn’t know precious if it knocked on your door and introduced itself nicely. Like, ‘Hi, Isaac, My name is Precious and I am a choir of adorable children from the south singing a fucking _adorable_ little song while someone’s grandad records.’”

Isaac rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching, as he buried his interest back into his magazine. Stiles looked pleased, regardless, as he turned forward.

“Stiles, I swear to god, turn this fucking music off or I will-”

“Shh,” Stiles silenced him with a raised hand, “I’m just getting the lyrics down. _It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way if we’ll keep on the sunny-_ ”

“Really,” Isaac said dryly, not looking up, “That’s impressive. Your vocal skills are truly amazing and not grating at all. Do go on.”

“Oh, if you insist-”

“Oh, I do. Don’t know how you haven’t gotten a record deal yet with a voice like that.”

Stiles laughed and, while distracted by playful banter, Peter ejected the disc and rolled down the window. Before Stiles could form the “t” in “What are you doing?” his mate had tossed the CD out and rolled the window back up.

Gaping for a minute, words were shocked out of Stiles.

“What the fuck, Peter?” he finally shouted.

“ _I am not listening to that fucking song again!_ Peter yelled back, his eyes red.

“You didn’t have to _throw it out!_ ” and he gestured behind him to the long gone disc.

“Well, obviously, I _did_.” Peter said, still sounding pissed but at a much lower volume.

Stiles pursed his lips and stewed for a second silently a Isaac let a small, almost imperceptible sigh. 

“Ah, don’t worry, buddy.” Stiles said, turning to him again. “I’ve got a copy on my laptop. I can burn another disc when we stop.” He watched with amusement as his mate white-knuckled the steering wheel. 

“Isaac,” Peter said, immediately, “Would you please hand me Stiles’s laptop? It appears I have something else to throw out a window.” 

“ _So_ not getting the middle of this.” Isaac breathed out as he flipped the page.

“I want you to understand,” Stiles said lightly and carefully, “That if you throw my laptop out of a car window - or any window for that matter - with it you will also be throwing away the privilege of ever having sex with me ever again. Ever. Just so you know what’s at stake here.”

Peter grinned over at him, suddenly seeming to think this was all very funny. “Dearling,” he said, “That is what we call an empty threat.”

Stiles stared at him in disbelief before laughing. “Yeah,” he agreed. “The emptiest.” Switching gears completely, the CD already forgotten, he asked Isaac, “Can you pass up the cereal?” His feet came to rest on the dash of the truck.

Wordlessly, Isaac groped under him, finding the box and then delivering it into Stiles’s outstretched hand. 

“Thanks,” Stiles said, already digging through the box, pulling out a handful of flakes and an opaque plastic bag. “Ah, yeah,” he said, mouth full, “Cereal box prizes.” He ripped the little bag open and pulled out his token. He blinked at the small item in his fingers and then sighed, greatly displeased. 

“What is it?” Isaac asked. 

“Another fucking ring.” Stiles huffed. “Second one I’ve gotten. They’re so stupid. They don’t even fit. Like, if I try, I can get one past my first knuckle on my pinkie.”

“Well, generally, grown men don’t eat Princess Polly’s Frosted Cinnamon Flakes.” Peter told him.

“Fuck you, Peter. I know that.” Stiles said, mouth full of frosted flakes again. “This shit is the best. Their sexist cereal for little boys tastes like ass. I guess the prizes are better, but...” He shrugged and said, “Cinnamon flakes,” like that explained it.

“What are you gonna do with the ring?” Isaac flipped another page of his magazine and didn’t actually sound interested. 

“Keep it, I guess. Kept the other one. The last one was pink and this one’s light orange. I’m thinking that, if I can collect all of the colors, they’ll magically combine and become some sort of rainbow princess weapon. Then I can harness the awesome power of the rainbow. So, uhm, that’s what I’m hoping for.” 

“That seems reasonable.” Peter remarked.

“Also, gay.” Isaac added.

Stiles turned and stuck his tongue out. Isaac returned the gesture.

“Boys,” Peter broke in, “Do you want me to turn this car around?” 

Stiles laughed and Isaac rolled his eyes. Stiles pointed at his magazine.

“So, uh... How’s the... Scandal thing?”

“Scandalous,” Isaac turned his attention back to his reading.

“Oh, my!” Stiles gasped. “Anything else...” he searched for the word, “Happening?” 

“Scarves are in this season.” Isaac reported.

“Scarves?” Peter repeated. “It’s the middle of summer.”

Isaac shrugged. “It’s what they said. Everybody’s whose anybody seems to be wearing scarves right now.”

“Well, shit.” Stiles sat back in his seat. “We’re gonna have to get ourselves some scarves, then.”

* * *

It was dark when they got to the retreat. They approached the camp in their recently acquired vehicle, having swapped a few cities back. Five people were already sitting cosy around a fire as they drove up and hopped out of their car. 

As they walked over to the fire, bag in hand, a man and woman stood, already sensing something was off.

“What are you doing here?” the man asked.

“We’re here for the retreat. Hunter couples, right?” Stiles said, smiling wide at everyone. “We’re Mick and Mal Knoxworth. This is our friend, uhm...” He paused. “Shit, I can’t remember Robert Downey Jr.’s name. The reporter.” He looked at his companions for help.

“Wayne Gale.” Isaac supplied immediately. 

“Oh, yeah! _Wayne Gale!_ Of course you’d know that!” Stiles gushed, beyond proud. Peter stood behind him, one hand on his back. 

The hunter couples were sitting still, except for one man, who was creeping back towards the cabin.

“I would stay where I was if I were you.” Peter suggested. To the general group, he stated, “We don’t want to hurt all of you. We just have a few questions.” 

“Oh, shit,” someone whispered, “Those are the Hales.” And there was a frenzy of movement from a few hunters, sprinting towards the cabin and, assumably, their weapons. Peter looked over at his mate, shrugging, and Stiles pulled the hand gun from his waistband and fired shots at the three scurrying away.

He hit one in the leg, and they went down a few yards away, and someone started screaming. Hitting another in the stomach, the last man stopped running to the cabin and put his hands up. The two still around the campfire where edging towards their cars. 

“ _Stop moving_.” Peter ordered, and they all momentarily stilled. “Now, as stated _before_ , we are only interested in asking you some questions. If we can all stay calm, no other people will need to be injured.”

Something defiant was said but it couldn’t really be heard by human ears over the screaming and sobbing coming from the man on the ground.

“Everybody shut the fuck up!” Stiles yelled. They did and he turned to Isaac, saying, “Go inside. See if there are any stragglers. If there aren’t, just fucking stay in there.”

“But-”

“ _Go_ , Isaac.” Stiles demanded, then added, “Please.” And the other boy shuffled off, swearing under his breath. 

“Does anyone know the location of any of the Argents - specifically Kate Argent?” They received no response. Peter turned to his mate. “If you would please persuade these people.”

Stiles shot the man on the ground in the head. He leveled the gun with one of the woman around the campfire and shot her in the chest. The man next to her started to scream, a hoarse and hallow sound, because her blood had flecked onto his face and shirt and hands. Stiles swore loudly. Aside, he said to Peter, “I was aiming for her shoulder.”

“If everyone would please just sit around the fire,” Peter asked, and the few surviving stragglers came to sit, except for the woman who was shot in the stomach. It was assumed by Stiles and Peter that the shallowly breathing, mindlessly whimpering woman’s partner was the man because no one moved to help her. 

“Again,” Peter said, “Are any of you familiar with the Argents?” 

The three alive looked varying levels of confused and scared.

“Oh, come on! The _Argents!_ ” Stiles repeated. “Hunter bigwigs? Someone’s gotta know something.”

“None of us have ever heard of them,” a man spoke up. “We’re all new to this - that’s what the retreat was _for_.” He sounded hysterical, close to tears.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Ugh, I should have _known_ from those two, white trash hicks that we’d be dealing with amateurs.”

Isaac came out, pulling a woman behind him, but they both paused as they surveyed the damage. The woman started to hyperventilate, and Isaac seemed a loss for words, looking at the bodies on the ground. 

“I found-” he finally managed out.

“Go back inside with her,” Peter said. 

“But, she’s-”

“I can see that. Take her inside; we’ll deal with her later.” And Isaac didn’t need to be told twice, leaving the smell and sight of carnage behind him.

“She’s what?” Stiles asked. Peter’s lips tightened and he shook his head. Stiles sighed, and pointed his gun and the trembling man. “You,” he said, “You don’t know any of the Argents?” The man shook his head quickly, not making eye contact. “But you know who _I_ am, don’t you?” The man paused, then nodded. “Tell me.”

“You’re... Stiles Stilinski.”

“Yes, I am.” Stiles said. “And you know I’m not gonna have any trouble watching my mate rip your throat out, right? I like bloody displays of power, so I’ll probably enjoy it. A lot more than you will, I might add.”

The man started to beg, “Please don’t kill me, please don’t, God, don’t do this-”

“Well, we can avoid that,” Raising his voice, he included the two women as he said, “We can all avoid that.”

“Exactly,” Peter said. “You’ve lost some allies tonight. I bet all you want to do is pack your things and head home. However, we all have to help each other to make that happen.”

“We told you,” one of the woman said, “None of us know anything.”

“You know nothing about the _Argents_. Surely, you have other contacts. We’d like those.” Peter explained.

“The meet-up was supposed to get us contacts,” the man rushed. “We don’t _have_ any.”

“That’s a damn shame.” Stiles sighed. “Guess you’re all unnecessary then.” He shot the man next and he fell dead on his back and stopped shaking so damn much. 

“What about you?” Peter asked the woman who had since been silent. “You must have met some other hunters along the way.”

She looked down, appeared to be crying. “I don’t know anything - _please_ ,” she wept.

Sighing, Peter ran a hand through his hair before eyeing the woman again, saying, “It doesn’t have to end this way. We’re just looking for _one_ name. You must have met _someone_ \- maybe the person who helped start you hunting or sold you your weapons. Give us one name and we’ll let both of you go.”

“Getting a little desperate, aren’t you?” the first woman asked.

Peter regarded her and then leaned back in his seat, spreading elegantly. “I’m fairly certain that was obvious. Anyone with basic observational skills could tell that. Most don’t gather a large group of people and start killing them one by one unless they’re desperate. You must think we’re totally unreasonable.”

The woman kept her mouth shut but met his eyes defiantly. He continued. “We understand that you were all new to this, but the assertion that none of you would have met any other hunters is absurd. I’m unhinged, not stupid. That being said, killing you will be just as fulfilling as any information someone like you may be able to provide. We’re being quite generous with this offer.”

The woman just bit out, “Fuck you.” And Stiles shot her in the head.

The last woman, openly sobbing now, nearly screaming into the night, shook and didn’t know what to do with her hands or gaze as she clutched at her own chest and looked up to Peter and Stiles. 

“Please,” she wailed, “I don’t know anything. Let me go. I don’t know anything. I won’t tell anyone. Please don’t do this.” 

The boy looked at his mate. “You want her?” Peter brushed a kiss on his temple.

“You take this one. I like watching you.”

Stiles ducked his head and looked a little bashful. “I’m not really _doing_ anything.” But, he leveled the gun and pulled the trigger. There was nothing but a little click and the woman released a held breath, still crying. 

“How embarrassing,” Stiles murmured, “And after such a buildup too.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it,” Peter said standing. He took care of her quickly and efficiently, slicing her throat. Stiles stood as well, not interested in watching the light leave her eyes as she gurgled. 

He gestured to the woman shot in the stomach and Peter shrugged. “She’s only got a couple of hours, tops.”

Stiles nodded. “So, what’s the deal with the chick in the house?”

Peter grew quiet again, but mounted the stairs up to the cabin, slipping in with Stiles closely behind him. Isaac was on the couch with the woman sitting very still across from him. 

“Well, this is nice.” Stiles remarked, taking in the room with approval. His gaze finally came to rest on the woman and he nearly stopped breathing. 

“This one is...” Isaac began, unnecessarily. 

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out, seemingly in awe.

Peter nodded and rubbed a hand down the boy’s back. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of this.” He stepped forward to take the woman outside but Stiles grabbed his arm, holding him in place. Peter looked over at him, waiting for an explanation as his mate stood there, trying to think it through at a rapid pace. They came to the same conclusion simultaneously. 

“ _No_.” Peter hissed. “Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, okay, but just think about it-”

“ _No_.” Peter’s upper lip curled back as he growled at his mate, a hand coming to pry the boy’s fingers off of him.

“Just listen to me-” Stiles tried.

“Absolutely not.”

“What?” Isaac ventured, finding himself ignored. 

“You’re being ridiculous.” Stiles huffed. “If you would just give me a minute-”

Peter breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. “We are not taking her with us. It’s incredibly impractical to travel with an enemy - especially a _pregnant_ one.” 

“Peter, no, it’s not like that.” Stiles said in earnest. “We could settle down for a couple of months. I mean, we’ve been talking about building up Pack. Starting a family. And, we haven’t had any leads. Maybe if we do some serious research, we can find something.”

“We said everyone would be travel-ready.”

“Yeah,” Stiles allowed, “But that was before we got Isaac. So, like, we stay here until she has the baby and then send everyone to Derek. I mean, she’s probably gonna have the kid by September.” Stiles squinted over at the woman. “Right?” She didn’t answer him.

“When are you due?” Peter asked her.

She swallowed several times, trying to speak. Finally she managed out, “Late August.”

“Whose cabin is this?”

The woman blinked a lot as she spoke. “Debbie rented it for the summer. We were just inviting new friends over for the weekend, but she rented it for the summer.” 

“And which one’s Debbie?” Peter asked. The woman was silent, so he approached her and helped her up. Guiding her outside, Stiles and Isaac trailing behind them, he repeated the question. She tried not to look as she pointed at the barely hanging on woman with the stomach wound.

“And she was your...?” Peter trailed off.

“Yeah,” the woman said. “She’s mine.”

He was silent for a minute, then said, “Isaac, take her inside. Stiles and I need to discuss this.” Stiles smiled in victory as Isaac led the woman back into the cabin, so Peter put a hand up to him. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“But, you’ll consider it?”

“What do you expect to do with the woman after? Do you think she’ll just give it up and walk away?”

“ _No_.” Stiles shook his head vehemently. “No, the kid should have it’s mom.”

“So, what?” Peter snorted. “We invite her into the pack? She’s a _hunter_ , Stiles. She’s not going to want the bite.”

“But, she’s new at this, right? She just doesn’t know how cool we are. Once she knows that she’ll be all over wolfing it up.”

Peter sighed deliberately. “We injured her woman. She’s going to die. People don’t just get over that.”

Stiles bit his lip, considering. “We could take her to the hospital.” He offered. “We could apologize.”

“For fuck’s sake, you can’t just _apologize_ for something like this.” Peter growled. “And, as for the hospital, there is no way we can let anyone who isn’t with us leave here alive if we don’t want the police or the FBI or more hunters interfering with our "settling down."”

“Well, _sorry_. I’m just trying to think of ways where this ends without us having to kill our baby momma. A kid shouldn’t have to grow up without it’s mother.” 

“Please,” Peter rolled his eyes. “If the child never met her, they won’t care. Besides, if I agree to this, _which I haven’t yet_ , _we’ll_ be its parents. _She_ won’t matter.”

Stiles frowned. “So, you think we should just kill her?”

“Yes,” Peter hissed. “That’s exactly what I think. I think we should keep going.” Stiles looked affronted, hurt, and down at his feet, kicking the ground. Peter sighed. “But, you’re right. We haven’t had any leads for a while. We don’t know where we’re going.” he paused, taking a step towards his mate. “A rest would do us good.” 

The way the boy’s face lit up in the glow of the firelight made Peter want to strip him naked right there, surrounded by gone hunters, and see how the rest of him looked when so shadowed. But, he figured, for a few months, they’d have time to pace themselves.

“And the kid?” Stiles prompted.

“And _our_ kid will be sent with Isaac to Derek. He’ll say he doesn’t like the situation, but I’m fairly certain he’ll appreciate the new family.”

“And the woman?” Stiles continued, reaching forward to take his mate’s hand in his own.

Peter thought; then, “We’ll need to find a way to keep her from running off. Someone will need to be with her at all times. And, after the baby comes... We’ll ask if she wants the bite. But, if she says no, Stiles, I will take care of her. I have no desire to have an enemy who knows details about my Pack and family. Do you understand?”

Stiles nodded. “Yes. Hundred percent. All clear.” He took another step forward, before saying, much softer, “Thank you, Peter.” and resting his forehead on his mate’s shoulder. 

Peter finally smiled. “You’re welcome. Now, you start getting rid of the bodies. I’ll take care of her.” After kissing his mate once, he bent down to scoop the woman up. Placing her in the backseat on their car, he waved to Stiles, already cleaning, and then took off, ready to drive the car and almost unbreathing passenger into the lake they passed on their way to the cabin.

* * *

Trish, the pregnant woman, was very quiet. When Stiles, trying to be friendly, asked if she was a Patricia or a Trisha, she had said nothing. (But, they’d taken her wallet and could see that her full name was Patricia Ann Sanders and she was twenty-six and from Evanston and she was an organ donor.)

They hadn’t been quite sure what to do with her initially. However, she seemed to prefer staying in her room. At first, Stiles had tried to visit her occasionally, working hard to be pleasant and provide support. He understood she was going through a lot and wanted to help her. But, she was unresponsive to his efforts and he stopped going so often for his own sake - her blank, red-eyed stare making him feel uncomfortable. 

A few rooms over, Isaac, huddled up to Peter’s chest, the man’s arms around him, and Stiles on his, his ear pressing over Isaac’s heart, sighed. “Ugh, she’s crying again.”

Stiles tried to sit up but was held down and still by Isaac’s embrace. “Again? She’s been crying?”

“Of course she’s been crying.” Peter murmured.

“She just... Didn’t that night, so I figured...”

“It took her a little while to come to terms with it.” Peter said. “Don’t worry - she just needs some time.”

Stiles settled back into the warmth of the other boy’s body.

“So,” Isaac asked, “What are you going to name the kid?”

Stiles smiled, he breath huffing a little with happiness. “Peter said I get to name the first one. I’m thinking Batman.” he stated.

Peter groaned. “You are not naming our child Batman.”

“For a boy or a girl?” Isaac clarified.

“Either.” Stiles shrugged.

“None of our offspring will be named Batman, Stiles.”

“Hmm, well. For a boy, maybe John?”

Isaac asked, “Why John?”

“Oh, you know,” Stiles smiled, “Johnny Cage from Mortal Kombat.” Isaac said nothing, a little thrown. He couldn’t think of an appropriate response to that. He was actually pretty sure there was no appropriate response to that. “Nah, I’m just kidding. ‘S my dad’s name.”

“Oh.” Isaac hushed.

“Yeah...” Stiles trailed off, almost sounding sad. “And, for a girl... Maybe Claudia or Talia or Melissa or - you know what,” he cut himself off, laughing a little dryly and nuzzling into Isaac’s chest, “Maybe I shouldn’t pick the kid’s name. I don’t think I’m very good at it.”

“You’re just fine.” Peter told him, softly, but Stiles didn’t speak again.

“So,” Isaac started again, wanting to fill the uncomfortable lull. “How did you two meet anyway?”

Peter chuckled. “I heard lots about Stiles far before I met him.” 

“How’s that?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “His nephew used to tell him everything when he visited him the hospital.”

“Nephew?”

“Derek.” Peter said. “Agent Derek Hale - my own little nephew.”

“We’re very proud of him.” Stiles told Isaac, who scrunched his brow in confusion.

“Okay,” Isaac cut in. "I've actually been wondering about this. If he's your nephew and he's Pack, why is he working with the FBI. I thought he was trying to find you guys to, you know, arrest you." 

“You’re right about the finding us part.” Stiles allowed. “He’s abusing all of his federal power and resources trying to track us down. But, I don’t think he’d know what to do if he actually found us. We’d probably all have to go off the grid because there’s no way Derek could send Peter and me to jail. He loves us too much. He acts all grumpy and shit, but he’s got the biggest _I just want to be loved_ complex I’ve ever seen. Remember that when you go to live with him.

“Besides, he doesn’t even _like_ being a federal agent. He was going to quit after moving back to Beacon Hills but then everything with Peter and I went down and I guess he saw an opportunity to use this in his favor.”

“Why didn’t he just come with you?” Isaac asked.

“Doesn’t approve of our methods.” Stiles said, vaguely. “Likes to pretend he’s all chaotic neutral but we know, deep down, he’s lawful good as balls.”

“You guys still haven’t answered my first question.” Isaac pointed out.

“How did Stiles and I meet?” Peter repeated, his voice warm and low. “Derek, after he came back to town, started to visit me. I was only half-aware at the time - more wolf than anything else - but the long-missed sense of family was certainly noted and appreciated when it was present. And, as I became more and more conscious, I started to understand what he was saying. And, quite a lot of what he had to say was about Stiles. Specifically, how infuriating he was.”

Stiles grinned. “I pissed Derek off to no end when we first met and the feeling was totally mutual. To be fair, he has terrible people skills - communication isn’t exactly his strong suit - and we didn’t really trust each other, you know? But, Derek’s, like, way hot, right? And I was maybe sixteen at the time, if we’re being generous. And due to some,” he paused, “Shared interests, we had to interact a lot. So, you know, he threw me up against a couple walls. I sassed him relentlessly. We had a sleep over after I accused him of murder. He took his shirt off. It was all very teenage romance-y.” 

“Derek starts coming in smelling like spice and sex and frustration all the time.” Peter picked up. “And I was awake enough to start noticing just how long his rants about ‘the sixteen year old menace’ were and how his heart used to _skip_. And, one day, he just got very quiet before telling me all about Stiles’s eyes, and fingers, and how he had the most unbelievable mouth. Derek has always been the romantic in the family.” Peter mused. 

“So, what happened with him?” Isaac asked. 

“Oh, we finally fucked once.” Stiles said simply. “It was some quick, frantic thing because he wasn’t dead. It was nice and I had been worried about him but he wouldn’t talk about it afterwards. He just grumbled out an apology and ran off. Now that I know more, I understand he has some hangups over large age gaps and, on top of that, anything that makes him happy. But at the time, I was understandably hurt.”

“And the next morning,” Peter broke in, “He comes in smelling _delicious_. I doubt I would have been able to control myself if he hadn’t reeked of guilt as well. And, all he could talk about was how he ruined everything _again_ and he can’t stop thinking about it because the boy is _perfection_ , even though there are much more important things to be doing. And I knew, from the scent, and Derek’s incessant chatter, and the way Stiles could rile up my nephew like no one else could, that I had to have him.

“I saw him for the first time in his school, but I’m afraid I didn’t make a very good impression. Besides, he didn’t know it was me at the time, so I don’t like to call it our first interaction.”

“We really met for the first time in the hospital.” Stiles explained. “I had just figured out that our Big Bad was none of than Mr. Peter Hale and went to go scope it out.”

“I knew him instantly,” Peter hummed. “Even if I hadn't had his scent, the color of his eyes and the perk of his nose an the way his mouth was always open had been described in such vivid detail that there was no way I could mistake him for anyone else. And, he obviously knew me.

“One thing led to another and a night or so later, I had him in a parking garage over the hood of a nurse’s car.”

Isaac blinked at the abrupt ending. “Yeah, see, it’s that ‘one thing lead to another’ stuff that I’m really curious about.” 

Stiles laughed. “To be honest, it’s not a really fun story. There was a lot going on at the time. What _is_ interesting was the life-changing sex Peter and I had on that car. I was a little stunned at the time, so I’m sure I was terrible, but Peter-” Stiles hummed at the memory, flushing a little. “Peter was amazing.”

“You were perfect that night.” Peter assured him. “You’d never been mated before. You took it beautifully.”

“Aw, shucks.”

“It’s just-” Isaac tried again. “That’s all really abrupt. You guys just met and then mated? What about Derek and stuff?” 

“I’m Derek’s Alpha.” Peter said, like that explained that.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, not fully understand either. “I still love Derek; it’s just that Peter is my mate.”

“Sure, but how did he convince you to be his mate?” There was silence and then he added, “Also, how did he _make_ you his mate? I’m still not exactly sure how that works.” 

“There are plenty of ways for a wolf to make a human its mate.” Peter said easily. “The quickest is a mating bite, followed by intercourse. It won’t turn the human, just create a bond.”

“We’ll give you a crash course sometime when it’s not one in the morning,” Stiles promised, looking at his phone. “Speaking of that - Hey, guys. It’s one in the morning. We’re doing the whole functional beings, settling down, normal life thing right now, so we all have to go to sleep, okay?” He untangled himself from Isaac’s arms to hop off the bed and the flick the lights. 

There was a round of _goodnights_ before everyone, settled back in each other arms, drifted away.

* * *

Isaac generally did all of the shopping because he didn’t run as serious a risk of being recognized. Sure, missing person flyers had been put out to assist in finding him, but he hadn’t been on the news like Stiles and Peter had, hadn’t made anything but local papers back home. They figured if he just stayed out of the post office, he’d be fine.

Stiles was getting antsy, though, having to stay in the house at all times. He couldn’t run with Peter and Isaac, and, while Peter did wander with him in the woods around the cabin, he was still noticeably restless. So, the next time Isaac went into town to do laundry and buy some groceries, Peter sent Stiles with him. 

When they returned, Peter was at the kitchen table, laptop open, scrolling through a message. Stiles looked positively overwhelmed with joy, and Isaac looked similarly pleased - if a little thrown by Stiles’s seemingly misplaced delight. 

“Peter!” he called, rushing into the kitchen and dumping a few grocery bags on the counter. “You’d never believe the day I had.” 

“Oh?” Peter asked, closing the laptop and rising to help him and Isaac put away their supplies.

“We went to the Laundromat and I did the sheets. Do you know how long it’s been? And, Isaac and I bought groceries - from the store! Not, like, beef jerky from a gas station. _Groceries_ from a _store_. It was awesome.”

Peter grinned and looked at Isaac, who shrugged. Looking back at his mate, he promised, “I’m going to remind you of this moment in a few years when you’re complaining about having to do chores.” 

Stiles seemed too happy to care. He left the milk on the counter momentarily to kiss Peter, easy and soft, humming in contentment against his lips. Quite abruptly, Peter had him pressed up against the counter, scenting him under his jaw.

“You guys seriously never quit, do you?” Isaac commented, reaching behind them for the milk carton. Stiles beamed at him fully. 

“Peter is insatiable.” he explained.

Peter huffed, surfacing from the boy’s neck, still keeping him against the counter. “ _Stiles_ is insatiable. I’m just a dutiful mate, fulfilling his needs.”

“Ah, you like me!” Stiles exclaimed, beyond pleased. “You really like me!”

“Like it a strong word.” Peter backed away. “The sex is good.” he offered.

“Oh, you see this,” Stiles said to Isaac, now the only one working to stock the kitchen. “You see how he teases me! The torments I have to go through for my devotion!”

“You’re life is so hard. How do you make it through the day?” Isaac said lightly, not really paying attention to him.

“Oh,” Stiles cried out, a hand clutching his chest. “No one knows pain like mine.”

Isaac and Peter both rolled their eyes at the same time and without consulting each other beforehand, which Stiles thought was very impressive. Peter sat back down at the table and opened his laptop, reading again.

“What is that?” Stiles asked, coming to read over his mate’s shoulder.

“Message from a,” Peter scrolled up, “MattShotFirst.”

“Hm. Cute.” Stiles said in a tone that implied he didn’t really think it was. Isaac, new gossip magazine in hand, came to sit at the other side of the table, ignoring them.

“He claims he can help us find Kate Argent.”

Stiles leaned forward, a hand coming to rest on the table. “How did you find this guy?”

“I didn’t. He found us.” Peter said, clearly displeased with the notion. “He wants to meet. Says that he’ll only help us if he gets a shot at her too. Some sort of unmentionable personal vendetta.”

“It’s a hunter trap.” Stiles said, straightening up to step over to the fridge, pulling something out to start cooking.

“Yes, that’s what I thought.” Peter agreed, but then continued. “Obviously, they thought we’d come to this conclusion as well because they’re offering us as many other hunters as we want until we feel like we can all trust each other.”

“Trap.” Stiles said, turning on the stove. “Don’t trust it.”

“I don’t.” Peter snapped. “However, this is the only lead we have. And if the hunter information he gives us all checks out, well...”

Stiles sighed. “We are grasping at straws. I mean, maybe once the kid comes, we can give it a look.”

“That’s the plan. In the meantime, I can continue to contact him. Try and discern his intentions until then.”

“Sounds solid,” Stiles smiled over at him. “It’s nice to have something again.”

Peter grinned back. “You have no idea.”

* * *

Peter went out at a bar, “collecting information” he had said. As he was leaving, he overheard Stiles tell Isaac that Peter just needed to go away from time to time. What he failed to add was that dive bars in small towns were good, dark places to be alone and drink jack or wine without anyone remembering how their father used to sit in the dark and drink jack or wine to be alone. Peter didn’t stop to share this.

When Peter came back a little later than he intended, he could already hear the commotion in the house before he got out of the car. Only Stiles seemed to be shouting, his voice sporadically accompanying the sound of things being broken and shattered coming from inside. 

Isaac met him at the door, wide-eyed and apologetic. 

“I tried to stop him, I swear.” he rushed out, walking with Peter down the hall. “It wasn’t my fault - I’m sorry. He’s in the other bedroom. When he started in the kitchen I made sure to move him but he-” Isaac cut himself off and Peter didn’t prompt him, instead coming to the open door where his mate was pulling all of he books off of a bookshelf and tearing picture frames off he wall and punctuating his actions by hoarse cries.

Peter stepped in, handing a small, brown paper bag he’d come back home with to Isaac, his other hand raised in peace. Stiles stilled instantly, one hand wrapped around a lamp he was about to throw. 

“Will you give it to me?” Peter asked and Stiles, looking like a stubborn child scolded, put it back down on the night stand instead. Peter didn’t mention it. “Stiles,” he began, taking another step forward, “What’s wrong?”

“Scott would have understood.” Stiles said. “He might not have liked it - but he would have understood.”

“Yes, my heart.” Peter indulged, “Scott would never have faulted you for any of this.”

“And, Dad,” Stiles said, his voice thicker, blinking back tears. “My Dad would have still loved me.” The statement was less assured, more like he was asking.

“Of course, Stiles.” Peter hushed, finally bridging the gap between them. A hand came to splay over the back of his neck, keeping his mate’s gaze on him. “Your father would have been proud. Nothing could have made him care less about you.” 

“Then why did he _say_ all of that?” Stiles asked, his eyes locked on his mate’s, a completely trusting connection, as if Stiles knew Peter had all the answers. 

“Who said that?” Peter asked softly.

“ _Derek_.” Stiles said like it was obvious, which it was.

“Derek says things he doesn’t mean when he’s upset. You know that. Come on,” Peter urged, starting to draw Stiles out of the guest room. “You should lie down.” Stiles let himself be taken, suddenly seeming quite tired.

Peter walked him to the doorway of their room and Stiles got himself in, lying down on his own, as Peter shut him in.

Isaac was waiting, bag clutched in both hands, tense, as if ready for punishment. Peter just took the bag back and, one hand on his Beta’s upper back, lead him into the kitchen.

“It happens sometimes.” Peter explained vaguely. “Stiles likes to break things. Catharsis, or what have you.” 

“Where were you?” Isaac rasped out, “I thought you’d be back by eleven and it was after and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Liquor store.” Peter said, setting the bag on the kitchen table and righting one of the several tipped over chairs. “Why didn’t you force him to stop?” the man asked as the thought struck him, more curious than anything else. “Were you worried about hurting him?”

Isaac shook his head and sat at the table. “I - I asked him to stop and he... Threw a book at me and it missed but-” Isaac shook his head again. “I’m sorry - I should have stopped him.”

“Don’t apologize.” Peter said, righting another knocked over chair and sitting across from the boy. “There was nothing you could have done.”

Isaac pressed his lips together but said nothing and Peter could feel him starting to calm down. He finally asked, “What happened?”

“Stiles called Derek - I don’t know why. But, he was telling him about me and Trish and the baby and Derek starts to go off on him. Talking about how Scott would never have condoned any what he was doing. And that the Sheriff would have been disappointed to know that his son had become a criminal and a murderer- 

“Stiles just lost it. I don’t even know if he responded to Derek; he just threw his phone and it shattered,” Isaac’s eyes darted over to the corner and, when Peter looked, he saw that, yes, Stiles’s phone had been broken into pieces against the wall. “And - and I had to get him out of the kitchen because he was going after the plates and cups - and I’m bad with broken glass so-” Isaac stopped talking and Peter nodded. 

“Who’s Scott?” Isaac asked, and his voice was less frantic now, his heart rate slowing. Now he only sounded confused. “And the Sheriff? I mean, I get that’s Stiles’s dad but what happened to them?” 

“That’s a long story.” Peter said. 

“Okay, but, I really think I should know if stuff like _this_ can happen when they’re brought up.”

Peter was silent, considering, and then reached for the paper bag between them. “Did you know Stiles’s father was a drinker?” Peter asked absently, pulling an amber bottle out of the bag. He set it down on the table in front of them and then stood to grab two glasses. The cabin was a little under-supplied in snifters, so he simply grabbed two small, children’s cups, one with a duck and the other with a cow. He placed them both on the table. 

“No, he, uh, never mentioned that.” Isaac said, eyeing the bottle of whiskey in front of him. He didn’t think he could pronounce the name on the label. He wasn’t sure if it was pronounceable. 

“I’m not surprised. He doesn’t like to talk much of the past - as I’m sure you can tell by the way tonight’s gone. But, he mentions his father in passing at times, and it’s fair to assume he might have brought up his father’s drinking habits.” 

“No.” Isaac shook his head. Peter sat down across from him again. 

“He wasn’t an alcoholic; although, the standards for that do vary. However, he was the type to sit alone, late and night, putting down half a bottle. Because of this, seeing anyone else alone, late at night, drinking anything but beer or milk makes Stiles deeply unsettled.”

Peter unscrewed the cap on the bottle and poured some into both glasses. “So, if he comes out, I won’t be drinking alone. He doesn’t need anything else to set him off.” He nudged the duck cup towards the boy.

“Are you sure? I’m underage.”

“Right. And obviously this is something that I care about.” Peter said, his voice making it very clear how genuine the statement was. He raised one hand, waving the concern away. “Besides, it won’t have any effect on you.”

Isaac made a face. “Werewolf thing?” 

“Yes. Cheers.” and Peter brought the glass to his lips to drink.

“Then why do you do it?” 

“Because I want to.” Peter said, simply, a finger playing over the rim of the glass. 

Isaac didn’t respond but sipped as well and then coughed. “This is disgusting.”

“Sophistication often is.” the man remarked, swirling his glass. “It’ll get better.”

So Isaac, hesitant, tried again.

“Have I mentioned that I killed Kate Argent’s niece?” Peter asked.

Isaac paused, glass at his mouth. He put the cup down. “No, I don’t think that’s come up.” he said, stiffly.

“That’s a good enough place to start.” Peter allowed, sipping from his cow glass and then setting it down and reclining in his chair. “Kate Argent had a niece named Allison. She was inoffensive enough and Scott would have mated her in a heartbeat had he known anything about that.” Isaac opened his mouth, aching to ask, but Peter raised a hand. “We’ll get to him in a moment. Regardless, I had both these women in a vulnerable position. Decisions were made and her niece died. Scott charged me. Kate got away.

“I was already mated with Stiles at this point. He was just getting used to it, and I had a Pack in the making with Scott and Derek. Scott had been reluctant in joining, but having Stiles by my side came with more benefits then I could have possibly imagined. So, Kate getting away at that time, while regrettable, did not seem as dire as it should have. Scott was reasonably displeased with my actions but, as my Beta, he knew that I was acting in our best interest. And Stiles became so skilled at calming him down.”

Isaac scrunched up his brow. “I know we’re getting there, but you really need to tell me who this Scott guy is because I’m more confused then when we started.”

“Scott.” and Peter’s lips tightened to a line before he reached forward to drink again. He didn’t look upset so much as slightly nostalgic. “You would have liked him. He was all about nobility and bravery - he had fantastic intentions. Obviously, he wasn’t a conscious choice. I only turned him because I needed Pack. It could have been anyone. It could have been Stiles...” and he trailed off in a way that implied he truly wished it had been Stiles. 

Isaac drank again, and Peter was right. It tasted smoother each time. Isaac briefly wondered why Peter liked drinking something that tasted like bonfire.

“I wasn’t an outstanding Alpha at the time, relatively speaking. Scott didn’t seem very interested in hunting with me and he had these notions of making his own Pack - with his little group of human friends. I’d called Derek and his sister in for reasons and Derek took it upon himself to act as big brother, guiding the new wolf along. Really, it’s like he knew they were Pack already - both of them my Betas."

“Derek has a sister?” Isaac cut in.

“Had.” Peter corrected. “Several.”

“Oh.”

“Derek used to complain about Scott almost as much as he did Stiles. Scott, at first, thought my nephew was the Alpha, that he had killed his own sister, that Derek was trying to kill him. Of course, all of these ideas come from Stiles, who has always distrusted the Other.”

“So, Scott and Stiles were friends before?”

“Best friends.” Peter said, looking a little surprised. “I didn’t mention that?”

“No.”

“Oh, yes.” Peter assured him. “Since they were very young. They were those kind of children that were constantly in trouble because of one another. Although, once again, anything clever was probably Stiles’s fault most of the time. Scott wasn’t very bright.”

“So, what happened to him?”

“As stated before, Kate Argent had gotten away and I was unaware that her old fuck of a father was still alive.” 

Isaac blinked, a little thrown by the sudden biting tone of Peter’s voice. “Uhm...”

“So, she calls in _Gerard_ ,” Peter continued, spitting out the name. “And they come up with a plan together.

“I had, perhaps, not been subtle about my mating of Stiles. The addition to my Pack had made my wolf deeply pleased and I’ve always been one to brag when things are going well. The boy’s father had been informed but was obviously discontented with the situation. It was quite a lot of work to convince him that keeping his son and me apart was unwise. But, he grudgingly came around. 

“However, the Sheriff was not the only one aware of our bond. Somehow, word got to the Argents. No doubt, Scott had told his darling love, the Argent girl, who had, before dying, relayed this information to her father or aunt or someone. As I stated before, Scott was not the brightest and he was an absolute _fool_ in love. 

“I come back to my apartment one night to find the place has been wrecked and Stiles is gone. To say I was unhappy would have been a great understatement.” The man was quiet for a moment, drinking, lost in an unpleasant memory.

“The Argents...” Isaac prompted.

“Had taken him. It didn’t take too long for Derek and I to track them but he was already alone at that point, having been abandoned by everyone just minutes before we arrived. Derek was immediately sick and I had to send him away because he was useless like that. Stiles should have been dead - I thought he was dead - and the _smell_ -” Peter cut himself off and downed his drink. He poured himself another.

“Scott and the Sheriff were there too and it didn’t take long to come back to my senses and find Stiles’s heartbeat, weak but present. He had been tied to some tree and was bloody and broken and near-gone. To a werewolf, his injuries wouldn’t have been any trouble, but humans are so _fragile_...” Peter just shook his head lightly.

“He didn’t want to be alive was the first thing he told me when I tried to rouse him. Barely conscious, he kept telling me that, over and over, that it wasn’t worth it. It's unbearable to have to listen to that.” Peter swallowed and did look, finally, moved to true discomfort at the story. “He kept begging me to-

“Scott had been burned alive. I think that was what made Derek lose it. The smell of that is hard to forget.”

“And you guys have smelled that before?” Isaac ventured.

Peter’s lips tightened. “Another time.” He looked down at his drink, before saying, “I don’t think Stiles was in a position to see it, but he must have heard it. And the _smell_ -

“I learned later that his father wasn’t there initially. But, a concerned citizen had seen something in the woods and called it in, and, being the Sheriff, it was his job to investigate. But, he shouldn’t have been alone. I don’t know why he was alone.” And he was silent again momentarily.

“Scott had just been burned and they were moving on to Stiles when his father came. There was someone else’s blood on the ground, so he must have shot one of the hunters before they shot him. They hit him with an arrow in the lung and left him in front of his son. They had been planning on burning Stiles too - already doused him in gasoline - but they decided it was best to simply beat my boy and see if father or son died first. I don’t know why they left. I suppose they thought Stiles must have died a little after his father and just taken off.”

“They didn’t even wait for you and Derek? I don’t understand.”

Peter shook his head. “This wasn’t about eliminating a threat. I’m not even sure if they considered me to _be_ a real threat at the time. This was simply about revenge. The death of a mate will kill most wolves. We can’t handle the loss -we aren’t built to. Grief can ruin you. If you’re lucky, depending on your definition of the word, you’ll just lose your mind.”

Peter paused, before continuing, “This attack was about devastation, nothing more.” and there was something so desolate about his voice for just an instant that Isaac had to look away and down his drink.

“And Stiles was devastated and he hasn’t been the same since. I don’t think you understand just how removed from humanity you need to be to do this. I’m sure you think it’s just what we do - but I want you to be clear on the fact that Stiles and I are not good or well and we probably never will be. Stiles will always have the memory, even after all of this is over.”

Isaac didn’t respond for a minute. “Everyone thinks that you’re the crazy one. In the newspapers and stuff, Stiles is just the kid that you drag along. But, Stiles is way crazier. I mean, if I’m understanding all of this right?”

“Don’t say crazy - it’s impolite. But, I would say that Stiles is the delusional one in this equation.” Peter corrected. “I am consistently ruthless, homicidal, and care exclusively for my Pack. Stiles has his ups and downs, in which he can range from what used to be his norm a few years ago and full on psychosis.”

Isaac was silent, staring intently at his empty cup. He chipped at the worn out duck decal with his thumb.

“Are you disappointed you chose us?” Peter asked, not seeming concerned about it. “We could always find you another Pack.”

“No, it’s just - a lot to digest.” Isaac allowed. 

“Yes,” Peter said, a half-amused smile back on his face. “I should say so.” 

“Should I sleep in the guest room tonight?” the boy asked, after a moment.

Peter paused, evaluating him and the situation. “I think Stiles would prefer if you didn’t. Although, it’s not your job to keep him happy.”

“No,” Isaac shook his head, standing, ready to leave the kitchen and go to bed. Peter gazed up at him, taking him in carefully. “I think it might be.”

* * *

“I met a girl today!” Isaac said as he came in with new books from the library and take-out Chinese.

“That’s great! When are you two crazy kids tying the knot?” Stiles teased from his seat next to Peter on the couch.

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Not like that.” he said back, setting the food and books on the coffee table and sitting in an arm chair across from them. “Her name is Erica. She’s a sub at the library. She’s really cool.”

“Aw, our little Isaac, out in the world, making friends.” Stiles said to Peter who looked mildly amused. Stiles started to dig through the bags for his carton of food.

“Shut _up_.” Isaac groaned. “I was going to say that she’s really cool and you should meet her because she’s a total fan of you guys.” 

Stiles blinked. “Wow.” he turned to Peter again, handing him his designated Chinese food box and chopsticks. “We’ve really got ourselves a little following, don’t we?” 

“It’s not to be unexpected.” Peter stated easily.

“She’s really smart and funny and she smells good and seems like a team player.” Isaac said, and the look he gave them conveyed something a little more.

“Is that so?” Stiles asked slowly, popping the tab open on his carton.

“Yeah. She gets picked on a lot at school and she doesn’t have a lot of friends because she’s epileptic. Which, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me that people would ignore her because of that but...”

“Children can be cruel.” Peter supplied, pretending to not follow their gist.

“Hey, Peter,” Stiles started between bites. “Can’t werewolfism cure epilepsy?” 

“I don’t think werewolfism is a recognized word, dearling.” Peter returned. 

Stiles huffed. “Hey, Peter,” he tried again. “Can’t _the bite_ cure epilepsy?”

Peter sighed, sounding deeply put upon. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t.”

“Well, then, we should meet her and see if she’s Pack material.” Stiles decided.

“What’s her home life like?” Peter asked.

“Uh, didn’t ask.” Isaac said, pulling out his own box. “Got her number.”

“I bet she totally thought you were hitting on her.” Stiles grinned. “Like, you’re all suave and scarf-ed up. Did she swoon? I bet she swooned.”

“ _No_ ,” Isaac said, seeming embarrassed. “I just saw that she had a Steter shirt and talked to her about that. She offered me her number as, like, a friendly thing.”

“Aw, that’s so cute! They combined our names - like Branjelina!”

“I don’t know what that is.” Peter said.

“Oh, don’t lie, you totally do.” Stiles said through a full mouth.

“He does.” Isaac agreed. “His heart did the thingy.” He gestured over his own chest with a wavering of fingers that must have symbolized the “thingy.”

“See, this is why we can’t have more werewolves.” Peter said.

“Shush.” Stiles said, kissing him quiet with greased, flavored lips. “Eat your noodles.” To Isaac he said, “We’ll meet your friend soon.”

* * *

Stiles was in the kitchen, reading, when Trish came in to get herself a glass of water. She generally stayed in her room, excepting trips to the bathroom. Food was brought to her, seeing as her staying healthy seemed to be more important to Peter and Stiles than it did to her. So, he was a little shocked to see her up, and even more when she sat down at the table.

“Hey, Trish.” he said, lightly. She didn’t say anything in response or acknowledge him. “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired.” she said. 

Stiles tried to contain himself, this being the first thing she’d said to him in the weeks they’d been together. “Oh - I’m... I’m really sorry to hear that, Trish.” 

She didn’t respond, just drank.

“Uhm...” Stiles looked around helplessly. Isaac was out in town and Peter was somewhere in the woods and he was really unsure of how to talk to her. “Uhm, so, I’m glad you came out. Peter said I shouldn’t push but I - I’m glad to see you out.”

Trish didn’t even look at him.

“Peter’s nice, once you get to meet him. Peter and I - we’re nice people. So, you don’t have to worry about...” he trailed off, not sure of what to say. “Stuff.”

She made a small, humming sound. 

“So, uh...” Stiles tried to think of something for them to talk about. “Why did you start hunting?” The question fell to silence. “Because a lot of wolves are really good people. You know, law abiding, tax paying citizens. They don’t hurt normal people. I mean, I’m not saying that there are no predators, but that kinda goes both ways. You know, like, there are good and bad humans too. And a lot of this violence is only continued because wolves are trying to protect their Packs.”

“Werewolf attacks human. The human’s people take down a feral wolf for everyone’s safety. The Pack attacks the humans in revenge.” Trish dead panned. “Wolves are the problem. Hunters take out a problem - but a Pack sees it as a personal offense. They think humans are some sort of weaker creature they can do whatever they want with. We’re protecting ourselves and our children from monsters.”

Stiles, while happy the woman was speaking to him, did not like this turn of conversation. “A wolf won’t attack a person without being provoked.” 

“And, you and your mate. Everything you do. It’s all been provoked?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, stiffly. “To an extent. You don’t really know much about that, though, do you?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” Trish said, looking down.

“No, no!” Stiles hurried. “We can talk it out. Peter and I are admittedly not the best examples for stellar Pack behavior - but he had a Pack beforehand that was really good. And, I’ve met tons of great wolves. And maybe you could tell me about the good hunters you’ve met. I mean, change starts in the home, right?” He laughed weakly but the sound died in his throat.

“All the hunters I’ve met died a few nights ago.”

“Oh.” Stiles said. “Right.” And they were quiet. “I knew a couple good hunters. I mean, she was sorta new to it and her dad scared the shit out of me, but they were decent. Noble.” he offered.

“Oh.” Trish said, not seeming like she cared.

“Yeah. And, I mean, Peter and I take out feral wolves when we see them. We get that wolves aren’t perfect. There’s... problems on both sides. But a lot of wolves - they have their code too, you know? They won’t just hurt people without reason.”

“And Peter never did anything to you without reason?” Trish asked. “Never overstepped any of your boundaries because you were human and couldn’t stop him?” 

Stiles got suddenly speechless, frantically searching for a diplomatic, truthful response. “Peter never did anything he didn’t have a reason to do, whether I knew that at the time or not.” 

Trish near-snorted, which was the most emotion Stiles had ever seen from her. “Right,” she said, standing. She didn’t say anything else as she walked, swaying heavily, back to her room.

* * *

It turned out that Isaac had been telling the truth that he and Erica weren’t interested in each other. She _had_ nearly swooned when Stiles introduced himself, exclaiming _these were the two gay guys you came into town with?_ followed by a gasp and a muted _you get to watch them have **sex**_. That had left Stiles smug and grinning for the rest of the afternoon.

Her home life was unfortunately average and loving, which made Peter, who had not come along but been reported to afterwards, shake his head and say a firm “no,” closing down the appeal.

Stiles had looked displeased, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, like he was ready to argue the point more so Peter put a hand up.

“We’ve already got more Pack on the way.” the man said. “We can’t take this Erica girl and remain in the cabin. The police would be alerted to her disappearance, and in search for her they could, quite possibly, find us. It’s impossible right now.”

His young mate, his arms crossed over his chest, a look of childish petulance still on his face, nodded. “Fine,” and he sat down next to Peter. He scanned the email on the open laptop. “Matt?”

“Apparently there’s good game a state over.” Peter explained. “Some hunter’s been taking the females from nearby packs.”

“Pervert?” Stiles ventured.

“It would appear so.”

“Kay, so, what? We hunt him down in a couple of months?” 

“I suppose, if we want. I’m looking into the legitimacy of the case at the moment. How, exactly, this Matt has found us and these hunters is still an issue that needs to be addressed. 

Grinning, Stiles suggested, “Maybe we could ask him nicely?”

Peter snorted. “Yes, shockingly enough, tactful but direct inquiries were ignored.”

“Double darn.” Stiles muttered. “Oh, well. We’ll see if Hunter Dick works out once we’ve sent the kids to Uncle Derek’s.”

“Please call him that to his face.” Peter said, fighting a smile. “He’ll absolutely _hate_ it.”

“Oh, you know it.”

* * *

Stiles had tried to sit with Trish that night while Peter was gone, even just quietly, reading with her and his child so close to him. The blank stare she fixed on him hade made him uncomfortable, though, so he’d ended up in bed with Isaac, one hand petting through blond curls as the other held a book up so he could read. Isaac ear was pressed to his chest, listening to his heart beating. 

Isaac made a little, needy noise and Stiles shushed him, raising his hand up to flip the page. Making another insistent sound, he tugged at the bottom of the book, taking the novel from the other boy’s hands. Stiles sighed and let him.

“What is it?” Stiles asked, managing to sound only a little irritated.

“Tell me a story.” Isaac demanded.

“Well, I could _read_ you one if you gave me my book back.” 

Isaac tossed the book away from the bed. “I want to know about Kate Argent.”

Stiles sighed again. “You should ask Peter.” 

“I’m asking you.” Isaac stated. He hesitated before adding. “He told me about Scott and your dad.”

The other boy pursed his lips and only murmured, “I’m not surprised.”

“I’d really like to know about Kate Argent,” Isaac repeated. “Especially because, you know, she’s important to you and the reason you’re not coming with me to Derek’s.” 

“You could always ask Derek.” Stiles bit out a little harshly. He immediately relented, saying, “No, I’m sorry. That was unfair. You really shouldn’t mention Kate Argent to Derek. At all. Ever. Please don’t do that.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s... complicated.” Stiles paused. “Do any of the articles about Peter and I mention the Hale Fire?” 

“No; what’s that?”

“Kate Argent. She, uh,” Stiles exhaled slowly and changed tactics. “Back when Derek was in high school, some shit went down with this girl, right? Like, worse than normal high school shit with girls. And Derek was really...” Stiles considered his words, “Desperate. And in comes this woman - and she’s gorgeous and friendly and discreet and experienced. She’s no high school girl with shit going on. And Derek’s got way too much angsty manpain already at sixteen and it leads him to make some bad choices - like fuck this bitch and tell her all his secrets and, most importantly, the ins and outs of the Hale House.” 

“I’m guessing this bitch is Kate Argent.” Isaac ventured.

“Ding, ding, ding; we have a winner. And she burns the house down, right? Cause she’s a sneaky hunter cunt.

“Derek wasn’t there, so, physically, he was fine. And his sister, Laura, was out too. But, Peter,” Stiles swallowed. “Peter was inside and... He got burned pretty badly. And - everyone else died.”

Stiles was quiet before continuing, sounding unaffected again. “So, Peter’s in a coma for six or so years. And Derek and Laura have taken off because poor Derek just can’t take it. He’s got all this guilt and living in the town where your family was killed doesn’t help - especially when you feel like it’s your fault. 

“The healing took a long time and Peter’s wolf woke up before he did. I think we told you that, maybe. So, after he got Laura to come back to town, he became Alpha without really consciously thinking about it. And then he bit Scott,” Stiles rushed out, as if speed could help him not think about it, “In a frantic effort to build up Pack. Pack makes you stronger - always - regardless of who it is or how close you are.”

“Do mates make you stronger?”

Stiles half-smiled. “In some ways, sure. It’s like added Pack. But, you generally can’t - or at least won’t - with just anyone. It’s kind of a lifetime commitment so you have to be ready for that. If something happens to your mate, it can completely destroy you. Having a mate, especially a human one, makes you really vulnerable.”

“Were you ready when Peter mated you?” Isaac asked.

“To be honest,” Stiles exhaled, slowly. “No. I didn’t know anything about mating. He just bites my wrist and I was really scared and - and, you know what, I don’t really remember it all that well. It was a couple of years ago and I’m sure it’s not that interesting. You wanted to talk about Kate.

“She rolls back into town a little after Derek does. She causes shit. She almost kills Derek at one point when she’s trying to kill Peter - and then she almost kills Derek cause she’s trying to, you know, kill Derek. She’s a total pain in everyone’s ass, and the rest of her family is buttfuck insane. 

“The bottom line is she gets away - twice. Peter had her cornered in a _you die or your family dies_ situation and she chose her family. To die, that is. And later, he just barely missed her on the night she left Beacon Hills. And now, she’s completely off the radar and it’s ridiculous. Hopefully, this Matt guy will lead to something real because that woman is good at making herself scarce.” 

Isaac was quiet as he processed it all. “So, it’s all about revenge?” 

“Well, sorta.” Stiles shrugged. “Arguably, it’s about justice, but sometimes that just be a fancy way of saying revenge.” 

There was again a pause until Isaac said, “I’m sorry about your friend. And your dad.”

Stiles didn’t say anything and when Isaac glanced up, regretting his statement, he could see that he was starting to look sad. It looked like he was pulling back a little, so Isaac flipped onto his stomach so he could scoot up the bed and drape his body over the other boy’s. He nosed him a little at his neck, nuzzling into a warm pulse, the worried whine he made in the back of his throat unintentional.

“Shh,” Stiles hushed. “I’m okay.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Isaac murmured into his skin.

“You should know. You’re pack.” Stiles stated. “It’s just hard to talk about sometimes.”

“I have another question.” Isaac said, resting his chin on folded forearms, looking up at the boy. “It’s a little unrelated, but it’s been bothering me for a while.” 

“Shoot.”

“If you and Peter are mates, why do you do stuff with other people? Doesn’t Peter get jealous?” 

Stiles hummed, seeming to much prefer this topic. “Peter knows that no one could ever get between us - emotionally, I mean. He knows he has nothing to worry about. He’s my main man. Besides, he kind of likes it.” Stiles grinned. “Kind of really totally likes it.”

“Big on watching, huh?” Isaac smirked.

“Hardly,” Stiles snorted. “He was inactive for six years - by all means he’s a _doer_. But he’s always liked watching me. And, I think, with Pack, it just makes him happy to see people he cares about together.”

Isaac hummed. “I always thought wolves were possessive of their mates.”

“Well, you know,” Stiles shrugged. “Different strokes. Maybe when you find your mate, you won’t want to share them with anyone. That’s okay too.”

“And what if I don’t find a mate?” Isaac asked.

Stiles ran a hand through the boy’s hair. “Then you can stay right here, with me.” 

They were quiet again, breathing together easily, before Isaac asked, “When’s Peter coming back?”

Stiles glanced at the clock. “He was supposed to be home five minutes ago.”

“Uhm, do you wanna-” Isaac cut himself off and Stiles grinned.

“Wanna give him something special to come home to?” Stiles asked, slyly, running his fingers over the back of the other boy’s neck. 

Isaac sighed, his eyes drifting shut in comfort, and nodded. Stiles flipped them and, Isaac beneath him, kissed the other boy, one hand curling into his hair as they touched lips sweetly, his tongue playing softly with Isaac’s. 

Breaking apart, Stiles trailed kisses down Isaac’s neck and collar bone before sitting the boy up to help him pull his shirt off. Isaac captured his lips again as Stiles tossed away the clothing, groaning at the contact as Isaac dominated the kiss. 

It was Isaac, this time, who broke away to mouth at the other boy’s throat, but his attention was more aggressive, including nips and sucking kisses, leaving Stiles breathless and moaning.

“Did you ever think about me?” Stiles asked. “Before?”

Isaac pulled back, tugging Stiles’s shirt off. “What?”

“Before we met.”

“I think you know I did.” He pulled Stiles into his lap and latched onto his neck again, his tongue coming up to curl at his earlobe. 

“Well, I saw your scrapbook, yeah. I mean, did you _think_ about me? Like this?” He rocked down into Isaac’s lap. 

“Yeah,” Isaac breathed into his skin.

“Yeah?” Stiles repeated, smiling, a hand reaching between them to the drawstring of Isaac’s pajama pants. “What did you used to think about the most?” Stiles pulled him onto his knees to help him out of the rest of his clothes, and then kicked off his own as well.

“Your mouth. It’s always open - it’s _obscene_.” he hissed. Stiles practically purred at he assessment before telling him to lie back.

Stiles had kissed the tip, laved at the slit, his eyes darting up to Isaac’s flushed, panting face, and licked up the side and taken the length into his mouth when Peter finally came home. Isaac heard the front door open and shut softly, so he, his hand having laced into the other boy’s hair, gently pulled him up to see if he’d heard too. Stiles just smiled at him before getting back to work as the bedroom door behind them opened. 

“My, you two do get into the best sort of trouble while I’m gone.” was all Peter said before unfastening his belt and slotting into the space just behind Stiles. One hand running over his mate’s lower back, he watched Stiles in the service of the other boy for a minute. Idly, one finger came to lightly rub over his boy’s hole.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Peter asked his Beta. Isaac just groaned as Stiles hummed at the praise.

Peter left the bed, crossing the room to fiddle around through a drawer before pulling out their bottle of lubricant and coming to rest behind his mate again. He tossed the bottle aside for a second to spread the boy’s cheeks and press a wet kiss at the boy’s entrance. Stiles moaned around the cock in his mouth and Isaac, in turn, tightened his grip in the other boy’s hair. Groaning out, “I’m gonna come,” he thrust up weakly into that wet heat.

“You should.” Peter remarked, grabbing the lube again to slick up his fingers. “In his mouth or on his face. He likes either.” He started to work his fingers into the boy, petting him open.

Isaac did come a few rocking thrusts later; some of his release filling Stiles’s mouth, the rest dripping down onto his chin as he pulled out. Stiles swallowed what was in his mouth, one hand coming down to finally touch his own aching erection.

“Isaac, would you please hold his hands.” Peter asked, politely, three fingers scissoring into the boy’s hole.

“ _Peter_.” Stiles whined.

“Hush,” Peter shushed. “None of that now.” 

Stiles did bring his hands up to rest by his face in Isaac’s lap and Isaac did twine their fingers together, his hands on top of the other boy’s, but the contact was more light comfort than anything else. 

“Thank you, Isaac.” Peter said, starting to slip his pinkie finger in as well, curling the four digits, eliciting a small cry from his mate. 

He chuckled and was rewarded with, “Fucking fuck, Peter, let’s - it’s - _now_. C’mon.” Stiles was babbling incoherently, jerking his hips back, as Peter, one handed, flicked the cap of lube bottle open and poured more over his hole. 

Peter started to nudge his thumb in and it seemed like Stiles was suddenly shorting out, not really forming words but broken, little half sounds. Peter shushed him again, his other, slick hand petting the tension out of his back. Curling his whole hand inside of his panting, near-crying mate, he met Isaac’s eyes over the boy and grinned. Isaac looked consumed, in total awe, watching Peter’s fist disappear into the other boy’s body.

Peter turned his wrist gently, knuckles brushing over the boy’s prostate, leaning down to pepper kisses over his mate’s spine and lower back. Stiles pushed his face deeper into Isaac’s lap and Peter finally started to extract his hand from the warm, tight, velvety hole incasing it. 

Once out, he gave Stiles a second to breathe, unbuttoning and tossing aside his shirt and then pants. He slicked up his dick and rubbed the head of his cock against the boy’s rim, catching the edge and nudging in slightly, before pulling back to rut against the boy’s crack again.

“Peter,” Stiles moaned, and his mate could tell he was trying to seem mad or impatient, but he really only sounded desperate, panting, wrecked. He bucked his hips backwards, trying to get the point across.

A small, content sound left Peter’s throat as he began to push in, spreading and opening the boy slowly and deliberately, inch by inch. Stiles made a delicious, debauched noise into Isaac’s naked thigh, right next to where the other boy’s cock was starting to harden again, which had Peter groaning softly as he sharply pushed in the rest of the way. 

The pace he started at was languid, unrushed, slowly rocking into the boy one hand splayed on his back and the other coming to touch the boy’s hole, right next to where his own cock was filling the boy. 

Stiles rocked back to meet him in little, weak spurts of motion, trying to speed up their rhythm. Peter moved his hands to his mate’s hips, holding him in place as he brutally slammed his hips forward once. Stiles _keened_ but Peter returned to his simple, slow push. 

“Come on, Peter, _please_.” Stiles begged thoughtlessly.

Peter slammed into him again. “Shh, heartling.” Fingers left the boy’s slim hip to wrap around his leaking cock. “I’ve got you." And he began to dick into his boy harder, fast, the way his mate wanted, pushing him more and more into Isaac’s lap.

“I’m gonna-” Stiles sputtered, just as he felt the base of his mate’s cock begin to swell. Moaning at the sensation, he spilled over the man’s hand and Peter murmured a small word of praise as his knot began to grow bigger, stretching the boy even more. 

Isaac made a small noise from the other end of the bed. Stiles was still half-curled into his lap, their hands knit together, but Isaac’s eyes were locked on Peter’s dick as he opened and closed his mouth, blinking, trying to find words to express his shock.

Peter finally nudged himself in, knotted in place, panting and grinning up at the clearly stunned boy across from him. 

“ _Bitch-knotter_.” Isaac whispered, finally, his eyes darting from where Peter was stuck to Stiles and Peter’s smug, amused face. Stiles laughed, a hushed sound that quickly turned into actual laughter, muffled into Isaac’s leg.

“I don’t-” Isaac started, then paused. “Have one of those.” he finished, stilted. “Do I?”

“It’s only between mates and it’s only sometimes.” Peter explained. “Generally, you have some control over it but - closer to the full moon...” he trailed off.

“Holy shit, it’s big.” Isaac blinked, he looked down at the boy in his lap, who was still basking in the afterglow of his orgasm and burst of laughter. “Does it hurt?” 

“It used to,” Stiles said. “Now I kind of like it. But, it’s a little uncomfortable. I always would appreciate a warning beforehand.” He turned to send a scolding look over his shoulder to Peter, who reached forward to catch the boy’s chin. He held him there and leaned forward, and his cock must have pressed in more because Stiles was groaning as he brought their lips together for a quick kiss. 

Once let go, Stiles sighed and placed his cheek on Isaac’s thigh again. Isaac’s rested his own head against the wall and stroked his thumb over Stiles’s. In the quiet of the moment, Peter petting down his mate’s back with a sort of reverent devotion that Isaac would have liked to watch more if it weren’t for the creeping sense of dread he was quite suddenly having due to the quiet he had just noticed in the rest of the house.

Isaac, tightlipped, asked, “Peter, do you hear something?”

Peter looked up, sharply, the calm care gone from his face. “No.” he responded, sounding less moved than he looked.

“What?” Stiles asked immediately, trying to sit up. Peter put a hand on his back to ease his down. 

“If you wouldn’t mind investigating that?” Peter suggested, carefully light as his mate squirmed under his hand.

Isaac started to pull away but Stiles held tightly to his fingers. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Trish?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Peter soothed but the look he shot Isaac told him to hurry up. Isaac started to pry the boy off, shaking him away. 

“Did she run off?” Stiles asked as Isaac tugged on his discarded pants and hurried out the door. Behind him he heard Stiles calling a frantic, “Is she okay?” as Peter shushed him.

Isaac crossed the hall and walked down to Trish’s room. Inside, he could hear no movement or heartbeat. He twisted the knob, holding his breath, and pushed in. 

Trish had not run off in a literal sense. She was just hanging out in her room. Isaac wanted to gag because she was staring at him in that blank way she used to stare at all of them, but now her eyes were bulging and they shouldn’t have been open. As he stepped into the room, he watched her and wondered where she had gotten the rope from, her feet just inches above the pushed over chair that Stiles had sat in an hour before. 

Isaac stared and gaped and didn’t know what to do. His mind was stuck in a frenzied cycle, knowing that he needed to tell Peter but could _not_ tell Stiles. He stood watching her sway for a good minute.

Back in the other room, he could hear Stiles’s heart thudding away and Peter still trying to calm him down. When Isaac wandered back into them and came to stand numbly in the doorway, he saw Peter holding the boy’s hips tightly as he struggled weakly under him.

“No, no, no, no, no, Peter, get out. I have to see if she’s okay. I have to see if my baby’s okay.”

Stiles snapped his body forward, pulling Peter with him. Both groaning, one of Peter’s hands relocated to the boy’s shoulder, holding him down. 

“ _Stop moving_ ,” he hissed. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“Get out, get out, get out, _get out_.” Stiles pleaded mindlessly. “I have to go see.”

“Stiles, _stop_ ,” Peter growled, his eye flashing red. 

“Make it go down, Peter, _please_ ,” Stiles begged, near tears. “I’m sorry but I can’t - We can do it later, I promise, but _please_ , I have to-”

“Stiles, I _can’t_ -” Peter harshed, growing more and more distressed as his mate thrashed under him. “If you’ll just-”

“I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll be so good for you if you just stop and make it go down and let me see her.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” and Peter’s voice was the closest to shaking Isaac had ever heard. “ _Stop it_.”

Stiles tugged his hips forward again, crying out in pain and frustration as the knot held him in place.

“Stiles, you need to stop or you’re going to hurt yourself. So, _stop_.” Peter tried to order, the careful hand he’d had now holding him down in a rough, bruising grip. “Everything is okay. We’re okay. Isaac, tell him everything is okay.” Peter glanced back at the stunned silent boy. 

“I-” he choked out. “Everything’s oh-” and his voice bit off, swallowing convulsively. “Okay.”

“That’s not true. Don’t lie to me.” Stiles, trapped under his mate’s weight, kicked his legs out a bit but his hips stayed held in place. “What happened?” his voice was faking calm, but his heartbeat was still skyrocketing. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Stiles,” Peter said. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”

“ _I’m not okay!_ ” he yelled back, before controlling himself and asking another soft, “What happened, Isaac?” 

“Isaac, go into the other room and look after Trish.” Peter said in a voice that left no room for argument. Isaac did whine, a soft sound he was sure Stiles missed after his own ragged breath, but Peter heard. “I know, Isaac,” he said. “I understand. But you need to leave this room.”

“Peter, _stop_ ,” Stiles begged again, his voice now wet as he began to cry, “I need to know if she’s okay.”

“Isaac’s going to look after her.”

“But our _baby_ -”

“We just have to focus on sitting still for a minute.”

“How long-” Isaac started quietly, still lingering at the door.

“It could be anywhere from a few minutes to an hour. Please go now. We’ll take care of this.” Peter said, forcing composure.

Isaac finally did turn and leave. He left the door to Trish’s room open but he didn’t look in again, sitting facing the opposite wall, listening to Stiles’s heart quake and his breath sob and heave as Peter tried to quiet him. 

About fifteen minutes later, Peter’s knot must have gone down enough because Stiles came tearing out of the room on wobbly legs, a hand braced against the wall. Isaac stood and wavered on his feet, uncertain, waiting for Peter to come out. Stiles was already at the door when his mate joined them, his pants pulled back on and a blanket thrown over his arm. 

“Oh, you dumb cunt,” Stiles moaned. Isaac’s head snapped to where the boy was standing, gripping the doorframe as his legs shook. 

It was an obscene picture. Stiles was still naked, his entire body shaking. Peter’s come was leaking from his hole, dripping and drying down his thighs. He looked wrecked, wracked with sorrow, his eyes and lips both red and swollen as his body heaved a sob again. “ _You dumb cunt_.”

Peter placed the blanket around his mate’s shoulders. “Come on. Don’t look at that.”

“ _No_.” he bit out. “No, Peter, cut her down.”

“I think we should leave.” Peter said, giving Isaac a meaningful look. Isaac nodded and turned to pack, happy to have his leave given to him.

“ _No, Peter!_ That’s my _baby_.” He lunged forward to get closer to the woman but Peter wrapped an arm around him, keeping him back. “ _No, no, no,_ Peter! _Please_ ,” he sobbed out, “Peter’s that’s my baby. She took our baby.”

“I know.” Peter rasped out. “Leave her. We can’t do anything.”

“Peter, I _can’t_ ,” he wept, but he did turn into the man, harshing out another cry. “ _Peter, Peter_ ,” but he couldn’t seem to form any more words as he _wailed_ into his mate’s neck, his unsteady legs finally giving out as Peter held him up in his arms.

Peter finally got a good look at the woman before them and was silent, his arms curling tighter around the boy’s heaving shoulder.

“Come on,” he said finally. “Quick shower and then we’re on our way.”

He had to carry his mate into the bathroom and get under the spray with him as the boy stood silent and still. Peter was really only concerned with checking to make sure his mate wasn’t hurt or torn and washing off the drying ejaculate. 

The water was hot but Stiles still shivered as he stood limp, one of Peter’s hands petting up and down his shoulder as the other came to touch between his thighs and cheeks. 

“Please, not now.” Stiles breathed out and Peter’s hands froze.

Stiffly, he said. “Of course not, Stiles” and took his hands away. Peter turned off the water and wrapped his mate in a towel.

“Peter, what are we going to do?” he finally asked, his voice creaking. “Our baby-”

“It wasn’t ours.” Peter murmured, grabbing a towel from himself and pulling the curtain aside. They remained where they were regardless.

“But it was gonna be.” 

“And it’s not now. Stiles-”

“Please don’t say you told me so.” Stiles begged, tearing up again. “I can’t hear that right now.”

“Stiles,” Peter hushed. “I could never in a thousand years have seen this coming.” and it was a complete lie, but Stiles didn’t know that and Peter didn’t think he needed to. 

Stiles hands came up to his eyes and he was crying again. “Peter, our baby is _gone_.”

The man shushed his mate, reaching out to carefully touch his arm. The boy shook, his face buried in his hands as he tried to contain his sobbing.

“You have me and you have Isaac. You’re not alone.” He gently guided the boy’s hands down and wiped away his tears. “You’ll be okay.” Stiles shook his head and Peter squeezed his hands repeating, “ _Yes_ , you’ll be okay. We need to get you out of here, though.” With that, he was coaxing Stiles out of the shower and into the hall. He was grateful to see that Isaac had shut Trish’s door.

He lead the boy to their room and clothed him in some things Isaac had left out for them. They paused to let Stiles flick off the lights, murmuring something about conserving energy. He wandered a little, slowly walking from room to room checking to see if they’d left anything and, when he turned towards Trish’s room, Peter had to forcibly stop him and direct him outside. 

Isaac was already packing up one of their cars. He didn’t say anything as he took in the vacant expression Stiles was wearing or the weary look in Peter’s eyes. He just helped Peter get Stiles settled in the backseat and took the keys, getting behind the wheel.

“Where to?” he asked, very softly.

Peter thought for a moment, then asked. “Where does that Erica girl live again?”

* * *

Erica ran away with them in the middle of the night, a bag packed in under five minutes. She had seemed excited to come along until she saw the way Stiles was staring absently out the car window, as if unaware of her presence. 

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked Isaac as he tossed her bag into the trunk. Peter eased himself out of the car and glided to the blonde, trying to look pleasant but unable to smile. The girl gazed at him, in total awe, he mouth falling open. 

“Erica, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Peter said softly, not wanting to cause a disturbance in the neighborhood. “I apologize for the rush, but there was a recent turn of events and we feel its best we leave town as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” she murmured, only barely listening, as she took in his face with a sort of shocked reverence. 

“Erica,” he said, trying to get her full attention. She did seem to snap out of it as she focused her eyes on his. “Are you sure you want this? There’s no going back, and the bite can kill.”

She nodded once, a determined look set on her face. “This is exactly what I want.” 

Isaac was lingering by the trunk of the car so Peter nodded him over. 

“You’ll need to keep quiet.” he told the girl. “If you’d like, Isaac can help you.”

Erica looked between the two. “Is it going to hurt?”

Isaac shrugged. “Yeah.”

Peter hadn’t known what the expect, but her certainly hadn’t thought the girl was going to look so unphased, almost bored, by the prospect. 

“You should probably help.” she said, offhandedly.

Shifting, he heard a small, startled intake of breath as the girl saw his wolf for the first time. Isaac quickly got a hand over her mouth that ended up between her teeth, as Peter lifted up her shirt and bite down and made Pack. The muffled sound she made was dulled enough that Peter didn’t worry as he pulled back. He just took the keys and circled the car to the driver’s seat, wiping blood from his human again mouth. 

When Isaac helped her into the back of the car, she was taking in deep, labored breaths and shaking, but doing her best to stay quiet.

Stiles finally looked over at her. “Oh, hi,” he said, as if seeing her was no great shock. 

“Hey,” she managed out.

Stiles took her in, clarity slowly filtering into his eyes. “You got bitten.”

“Yeah.” she stated. “I did.”

Stiles looked over at Peter, who was starting to drive away already. Peter checked the rearview to see Stiles looking surprised and grateful and so in love that Peter had to smile back at him, despite the night. 

Looking back to Erica, Stiles drew her into him, allowing her to recline as she turned. A hand came down to smooth over blonde hair, Erica humming mindlessly as the comfort, and they drove away from that town.

* * *

Erica recovered much faster than Isaac. By midmorning, her wound had healed and, by noon, she was asking questions and moaning about the tight space of the car. She had tried to ask, once, why the sudden rush to turn her and ditch town, but she was met by uncomfortable silence and a stilted, “Maybe some other time.” from Peter.

By mid afternoon, she was really starting to get irritated.

“Ugh, I feel so gross. I want a shower.” Erica bitched.

“We’ll stop in the next town.” Stiles said. They were both sitting upright now.

“I honestly don’t understand how you can all stay cooped up in a car for so long. I just want to run or _something_.” she sighed, sitting back in her seat, exasperated with her vehicular imprisonment.

“Isaac and I go on a run after we dispose of the car.” Peter told her. “If you already think you’re up for it, you can certainly join us.”

“Hey,” Stiles said, “Since there are three of you now, I was thinking maybe we could just, like, hook you all up to a sled and have you pull me and our stuff around. You guys wouldn’t feel cramped all the time and I could finally live out my dream of running sled dogs. Why don’t we do that?”

“Because that is the most conspicuous means of transportation and someone would notice very quickly.” Peter said.

“Damn.” Stiles murmured. “And here I thought it was foolproof.” 

“Wow.” Erica said to Isaac. “It’s kinda like they’re normal people or something.”

“Wait til you see them fight.” Isaac scoffed. “You haven’t seen truly spectacular normalcy until you’ve seen these two argue about something.”

Stiles tsked. “God, you make it sound like we fight all the time or something.”

“We do fight all the time.” Peter said.

“ _No_.” Stiles snapped out. “We _don’t_.”

Peter sent him a grin in the rearview and Stiles, rolling his eyes, stifled a smile in response.

“So,” Erica asked. “Where are we going?”

“There’s this guy in Centerville - real skeezbag.” Stiles explained. “He’s been taking lady werewolves. So, we’re gonna take him.” He pursed his lips and then clarified, “And by take him, I mean take his life because he’s killing people and we’re killing him.”

“Oh.” Erica grinned. “Cool.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” Peter said. “You can just wait behind with Isaac. We don’t have to bring you along for that.”

“No,” Erica objected. ‘I want to watch you guys. Besides, isn’t it wolf nature to want to kill?”

“To want to hunt, yes.” Peter corrected. “Most wolves these days take on large game, not people. Stiles and I aren’t doing this for completely instinctive reasons.”

“Then why are you doing this?” Erica prompted.

Stiles and Peter were silent, trying to consider how to field the question.

“They’ve got a revenge thing going with a hunter named Kate Argent that leads them to take down other hunters from time to time.” Isaac explained. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll probably be at Derek’s before anything big happens.”

“Derek? You’re sending us away?” And for the first time, Erica sounded something besides annoyed or smug. She seemed genuinely distressed at the idea of being separated from her Pack.

“Just so you can finish school.” Stiles hurried out. “Peter said that because you’re teenagers you should get through high school - and I agree with him. It’s best if you two finish your education.”

“But who’s Derek?” Erica furthered.

“Family.” Peter said. “Don’t worry - we have some time before then.” 

“And hopefully this Kate Argent stuff will be resolved soon. Then we can all stick together for good.” Stiles said, smiling wide at Erica.

She did run with Peter and Isaac that night after they got rid of the car. And when they got back to the motel where Stiles was watching TV, she kissed each of them deeply, to their and her own surprise, before all settling down, weary from the day, and going to bed.

* * *

“How’d you hear about this guy anyway?” Erica said as they sat outside of the hunter’s house on the outskirts of Centerville. Stiles was holding the pair of binoculars as they waited for the man to leave his house and enter the murder-shed a few yards from his backdoor. Having parked across the street while the neighbors were having a party, they appeared fairly innocuous. 

“We’ve recently acquired a contact.” Peter said, absently. “Matt.”

“Who’s Matt?” Erica asked.

“MattShotFirst.” Stiles said. “He’s gonna help us find Kate Argent but we don’t trust him yet so we’re going on little missions until we do.” 

“I’m actually a little confused about this.” Isaac cut in, not paying any attention to the house or murder-shed connected to it. “What did Matt shoot? Like, why is it important when he shot? Is he like a photographer or something?”

Erica looked at Stiles. “Is he for serious?” Stiles was too busy gaping at the other boy to respond.

‘What?” Isaac asked, clearly uncomfortable. 

“It’s, like, _Star Wars_. You know - Han Shot First?” Erica said, hoping that would jog his memory. 

“Uh... Is that a quote or something? Is Han a photographer?” 

Stiles flailed a little, managing to choke out, “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Do you know what they’re talking about?” Isaac asked Peter.

“Please,” the man scoffed. “I’ve been with Stiles for quite a while now. Of course I do.”

“Also, he hasn’t been living under a rock for the past fifteen years.” Erica said. “Obviously.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m completely up on popular culture for the past decade. However, this was a little hard to miss.”

“You haven’t seen _Star Wars_?” Stiles asked, personally affronted. 

“No.” Isaac sighed, sounding bored. “I’m not big on sci-fi.” 

Stiles slammed his head against the window, hard. “It’s not - you can’t just say - I don’t think you understand what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever. It’s not that big of a deal.” 

“But - it - totally is. A big deal.” Stiles got out. “It’s like the biggest fucking deal.” 

‘So, Han isn’t a photographer. What does he do?” Isaac prompted, trying to change the subject.

“Why are you so set on photography?” Erica asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

Isaac shrugged. “Knew a guy in high school named Matt. He was big on it.” 

“I think everyone new a guy named Matt in high school.” Erica pointed out.

“Um, no, can we get back to the atrocity that we just learned about today?” 

Deeply annoyed, Isaac sighed again. “I don’t see what the huge deal is.” 

“You don’t see-” Stiles sputtered. “You can’t just put these things off! Anything could happen and then - wham! - you're dead and you’ve never seen _Star Wars_.” He sounded like he was getting more emotional about this than would have been considered normal. “You can’t let that happen.”

“Jesus Christ, I’ll watch your movie.” Isaac snapped. “Like I even care. Jesus.” 

“You bet your fucking ass you’ll watch that movie.” Stiles muttered to himself.

“He’s moving.” Peter said, one foot already out the door. ‘Let’s go.”

Stiles hopped out as well with Erica trailing behind them. Crossing the street quickly, Stiles asked, “What’s this guy’s name again?” 

Peter stopped at he door. “Connor Ray.”

Stiles looked elated. “Oh, hell yes. I’ve been wanting to do this forever.”

They entered the murder-shed with a bang.

“ _Hey, hey, Connor Ray, how many girls did you kill today?_ ” Stiles sang as the man turned quickly on his heel and was met by Peter’s hand, smacking him to the ground. His head banged on his workbench as he fell. Stiles laughed and Erica stood just inside, her back up against he door as she took in the surrounding mess. While there was no one else alive in the shed, there were bits and pieces of other people who may or may not have been alive on entering.

Erica choked out a laugh of disbelief. “Oh my God.”

“Shit.” Stiles murmured, looking around. “It’s kind of refreshing to find someone worse than us.” He poked at a rotting, bloody, dismembered leg that hung from a hook and then made a face.

Peter rolled his eyes as Connor Ray, disoriented, tried to regain his balance. “Honestly, Stiles, we’re not that bad.” He beat the man to the ground again. 

“Oh, _that_ feels like a challenge.” Stiles winked at his mate, who chuckled. He smiled down at the hunter again.

“Who-” the man started, now bleeding. “Who are you?’

“Your worst nightmare.” Stiles offered, beaming with delight at the statement.

“Really.” Peter huffed.

“It’s bound to scare the shit out of someone someday.” Stiles shrugged. 

Connor was struggling to his feet again, grabbing at a knife. Peter whacked him down one more time and took the knife away, handing it to Stiles. He picked up the man by his shirt and threw him down on his back onto his worktable. Using the restraints already attached to the table, Peter and Stiles began to secure the struggling man. 

Peter flicked on the overhead light and a beam of light came to illuminate over the other man’s shirt and face.

‘So, like, why all the bits of girls hanging around, Connie?” Stiles asked, looking around again.

“Gonna kill you both.” the frantic, restrained man promised. “Gonna get out of here and skin you _alive_.”

“Stop that.” Peter reprimanded, lightly, perusing his extensive collection of surgical instruments. “You’re only making a fool of yourself. Have some dignity.”

“Really, though,” Stiles continued. “What’s the point?” He perked up and asked. “Is this a cannibal thing? ‘You eat the werewolf before the werewolf eats you.’ Gross, dude.”

Peter snorted and picked out a pair of scissors and started to cut away Connor Ray’s shirt.

“It’s been too long since we’ve castrated someone.” Stiles said, coming up behind Peter and placing a hand on his hip as he watched his mate help Connor out of his clothes. “I’ve always wanted to try that rubber band thing.”

Connor started to scream, swearing and threatening. 

“Do you see a rubber band anywhere nearby?” Peter asked. Stiles turned a little to give a cursory glance over the place and then sighed. “That’s what I thought. Maybe we can try that next time.” 

Wasting no more time, shirt cut away from Connor’s chest, Peter asked the panicked man. “Are you acquainted with a Kate Argent?”

“Who?”

“Kate Argent.” Peter repeated evenly. “We’re interested in her location.”

“Oh, yeah, Kate.” the man said, grinning, his teeth red. “I heard she was in _Go Fuck Yourself_.”

Peter gave him a look of vague distaste, going back to inspect the various tools and picking up a scalpel, as Stiles laughed. “Wow. That’s really clever. It’s a shame such wit is going to be taken from the world.”

The man fought his restraints, looking deranged, his eyes darting between all of them. Resting finally on Erica, still standing by the door, he grinned. The look was feral, overjoyed. “Hey, bitch,” he said, “Why don’t you-” but he broke off in a loud, high cry as Peter gripped his scalpel and stabbed it down into the man’s upper arm. 

“Don’t talk to her,” he growled, eyes red.

The man, coming down from the initial shock of pain, started to laugh.

“You got yourself a little wolfbitch.” the man harshed. “I’ve had a few myself. I could give you some tips.” 

Grabbing Connor’s jaw, Stiles held his mouth open as he reached between snapping teeth to start pulling out the man’s tongue. “I’m sick of hearing him talk.” Stiles leaned forward, until he was directly over Connor. The work light haloed behind his hair as he smiled down at him very sweetly. Had the situation been any different, the man might have stopped his struggles, put his frantic movement to rest, so that he could properly take in the last perfect thing he would ever see.

Stiles cut the tongue out of the man’s mouth, and it took quite a few snips, and watched him choke on his own blood. He wagged the loose appendage in front of the gagging, sobbing man’s face. “This is gross,” he said, his nose crinkled a little as he watched the bloody thing in his hands wiggle. “Ooh, feel that.” He had him lick his own cheek. “Disgusting.”

The man spit out blood, sobbing incoherently. Stiles worked his jaw open again, trying to shove the member back in, wanting to make the man kiss his own tongue. “Come on, come on, open up. Eat yourself.” 

Peter put a hand on his mate’s arm. “I had more questions for him.” He didn’t sound mad; he actually seemed to think it was all very funny.

“Oh. Shit. Right. Got a little carried away there.” Stiles apologized, dropping the man’s tongue to the ground as Connor Ray coughed out blood again, harshing out more sobs. 

“Well, he’s no good now.” Peter shrugged, pulling his scalpel out of the man’s arm. “He didn’t seem to know anything anyway - and that was far more interesting to watch.”

“Aw,” Stiles said, a bloody hand coming to press over his heart. “You always know just what to say.“ With his other fingers gripping the front of Peter’s shirt, he pulled him in for a quick kiss. Peter broke away to glance back at Erica, who was actually looking like she might be sick.

“Let’s hurry this up.” Peter murmured. Stiles looked back at the Beta and then nodded.

Turning back to Connor Ray, Peter brought the scalpel to the man’s neck, rethought it, and put the instrument aside. Instead he brought one hand down to pinch the man’s nostrils shut. They watched him weakly struggle, gagging and choking, and try to gasp a breath through the mess of his mouth. He tried to kick out his restraints, but he couldn’t, and his mouth clogged, and that was all.

Stiles said a quiet, “A little anticlimactic, don’t you think?” to which Peter said nothing. 

They left Connor like that. Erica scurried out before them as they leisurely left the murder-shed, hand in hand. 

They’d been gone for less than thirty minutes, Isaac getting through one gossip magazine and rummaging around in his bag for another. When he heard them coming back, they could see him peek up.

“Peter, you got a little...” Stiles gestured to the front of his shirt, which had a few drizzles of blood. The man just smirked and refrained from pointing out all the red decorating the boy’s. He glanced over at Erica, who looked pale and a little sad.

“You don’t have to come with us.” Peter repeated to the girl. “You can always wait with Isaac in the car next time.” 

“He just-” Erica shifted her weight, “Screamed a lot.”

“Yeah.” Stiles said, almost wistful as he glanced back at the murder-shed. 

“And it smelled awful in there.” They came to stand just outside of the car. The party in the neighbors house had not stopped, or even paused, during the time they were gone.

Stiles regarded the disquieted girl for a moment, then said, “Why don’t you sit up front with me? The space will help you clear your head as I look for a motel.” 

“Is that okay?” Erica asked Peter. He just nodded and went to sit next to Isaac in the back.

Once in and driving, Stiles said a light, “Erica, can you reach into my bag for me. It’s just at your feet. There’ a CD case in there.” 

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Peter asked stiffly.

Stiles ignored him as Erica pulled out the case. “Go ahead and put it in.” And, while she looked confused and Peter was starting to protest, she pushed the CD in. 

A recording of a piano started to pick up. Isaac groaned as if in pain.

“Stop the car.” Peter demanded.

“Shh, the kids are gonna start singing soon.” Stiles scolded.

“What is this?” Erica asked, humor brightening her face and lacing her voice. The country children’s choir picked up and she outright laughed. “Oh my God.”

“You’re right." Peter said. "Keep driving. I’m just going to throw myself out of the moving vehicle and hope I die.” 

“Oh, stop being such a drama queen.” Stiles waved him off, turning towards Centerville’s little downtown.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever heard.” Erica said, smile finally set back in place. 

“Isn’t it?” Stiles asked, overjoyed. “Oh my God - _finally!_ Someone who recognizes true art.”

“It’s a litter of white trash, tone deaf little brats whose inbred, hick parents gave them whiskey when they were teething. There is nothing _artistic_ about this.” Peter hissed. 

“Holy shit.” she laughed. “He wasn’t even this mad when he was _wailing_ on that perv.”

“I know!” Stiles said, equally pleased.

“Okay, seriously, other person in the car here,” Isaac huffed. “Turn that shit off. I cannot listen to this song again.”

“Oh, Isaac, you’ve turned on me, you traitor! What happened to your honorable neutrality?” Stiles asked, his tone not carrying any genuine displeasure.

“That flew out the window with the last CD. I swear to God - if you don’t turn this shit off - Peter or I are going to shift in the backseat and-”

“Oh, look! A motel!” Stiles exclaimed, turning into a parking lot.

Peter was immediately out of the car, followed closely by Isaac, Stiles and Erica both laughing behind them.

“Promise me you’ll teach me that song.” she said.

“On my life,” he managed out. “Scout’s honor.” 

“Good,” she said, taking his hand. “Now, show me how you and Peter have angry motel sex. I’ve been dying to see that.” 

So, minutes later, after Peter had secured a room for all of them, he was fucking Stiles into one of the queen-sized mattresses, Erica watching intently. Isaac’s head rested on her thigh, one hand curled by his mouth, the other curling inside his underwear, around his cock.

Erica applauded them all when they finished.

* * *

“I swear to God,” Stiles said, tossing his empty box of Princess Polly Frosted Cinnamon Flakes into the trash can and opening up his laptop. He waited for it to power up. “If I get another pink ring, I’m going to write a very strongly worded letter to these cereal company corporate bastards.” He signed on and opened up his internet browser.

“It’s a cereal for little girls.” Isaac sighed. “Most of the prizes are going to be pink.”

“But,” Stiles whined, searching _Princess Polly Prize Rings for sale_ on Google. “I’ve got pink, orange, blue, and lavender. There’s gotta be a yellow or a light green but-”

Erica sighed loudly on the bed and Peter made a slight amused sound.

“Why are you buying cheap prize rings? They don’t even fit.” the other boy pointed out. He paused, looking over the page, and added, “And a full set of them is surprisingly expensive.”

“Yeah, but - I have to have them _all_ , Isaac. So, I’ll just buy these and-”

“Send them where?” Isaac asked. “You don’t really have a set address.”

Stiles sighed. “Derek, I guess. Although, the asshole would probably just throw them away.”

Isaac was about to respond but was cut off by the activity on the bed. Erica moaned as she came the first time, pulling the boys’ attention away from their conversation. 

Peter was kissing her through it, very tenderly, his hands gripped under the backs of her thighs, nudging her legs to a spread open splay. He licked inside of her, making her gasp and squirm. 

“Come on, Peter,” she urged, drawing him up. “Come up here and kiss me.”

Peter hummed as he slid himself up the girl’s body and did just that, his hands caressing down her side.

“ _Fuck me_ ,” she groaned, and Peter pulled back to look at her, as if discerning whether her statement was an expletive or an order. She rolled her eyes. “ _Now_ , Uncle Peter.” 

He smirked and sat up, and she followed him, her lips catching his again as she wriggled her way into his lap.

From the side they could hear Stiles recite, “Don’t be a fool - wrap your tool.” as his hand came into view with a condom. 

Erica grinned and Peter took the packet from the boy before pulling him down by his shirt and quickly kissing him thanks. Erica grabbed the condom from him with her perfect, red-painted fingers and tore the packet open with her teeth. 

“That’s my girl,” Peter said, words purring out with pleasure as she unwrapped the rubber onto his cock, his hand coming down to cover and guide her’s. He helped her ease her hips down, pushing inside, until she was fully seated, breathing heavy as she experimentally rocked her hips. 

His hands, nearly claws as she started to set a pace, finding a rhythm she liked, grasped at her thighs. Her arms were lazily thrown around his shoulders, holding him tightly to her as she breathed against his neck. 

She fucked herself on him like that, slow and hard, his hips rolling to meet her. One the side, Stiles had reclaimed his seat next to Isaac, who had immediately tucked himself into the other boy’s side as they watched intently.

“It’s actually kind of sweet.” Isaac remarked. He might have been aiming for sarcasm, but the words were breathless and murmured just under Stiles’s ear where Isaac’s lips were pressed. Stiles’s hand dipped under the other boy’s waistband. 

“One day,” Erica panted, rocking her hips down a little faster, a hand drifting between them to pet herself. “We’re going to have a real orgy.” 

“Can’t.” Stiles stated, eyes locked on Isaac’s slack with pleasure face. “You need at least six people for it to classify as an orgy.” 

“Well, we’ll need two more people then.” Erica bit out, now close to slamming her hips down as Peter thrust up hard. “Won’t we, Peter?”

“Absolutely,” he smirked, his nose scenting under her jaw. “Whatever you want, dearling.”

She grinned and huffed out a laugh. “I like the sound of that.” and Peter flipped hem so that she was on her back, him driving into her harder and more erratically. She stopped talking but she didn’t stop making noise as she bucked a little in his grip and swore, coming again. 

Isaac spilled over Stiles’s hand as Peter pounded his hips forward a few more times, unloading into the condom. His forehead stayed in the juncture of her neck and shoulder as they rested for a second. 

Erica glanced over at Stiles, licking the ejaculate off of his hand with a self-satisfied look. “Did you come?” she asked. Stiles shook his head and Erica, getting out from under Peter, hopped off the bed and over to where the boy sat. She pulled him by his wet hand up and towards the bathroom.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll finish you off in the shower.”

* * *

Matt sent them on good runs. None of the hunters they’d been lead to had much information when it came to Kate, but, by Peter and Stiles’s standards, they were fit for some righteous violence. Matt was more than accommodating, seeming fine with giving them hunters for years until trust was established. 

They had just finished off a woman in Fairview and were settling in for the night. 

Peter was at the end of the bed, one of Erica’s feet in his hands, carefully applying red nail polish. Isaac was at her right hand, filing in preparation, and Stiles had been sent away to do research on his laptop after his spasmodic flailing and inability to preform small, precise movements had gotten red all over the bed cover and Erica’s shirt. 

Stiles peeked over at her. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Well,” she drawled, smug. “With fine bitches like these, who wouldn’t?”

“True dat.” Stiles said.

“I object to being called a bitch.” Isaac said, lightly.

“That’s too damn bad, bitch.” Erica said, using her free hand to grab an extra bottle of polish and wave it at him. “Get to work.”

Peter sighed, seeming deeply put upon. “Between Isaac’s unhealthy appreciation of gossip magazines and, now, apparently, scarves and your use of copious amounts of nail polish, I’m going to go bankrupt. I never realized how low maintenance Stiles was until taking on you two.”

“Ha.” Stiles said. “Too bad you never appreciated me until now. If you liked it then you should have put on a ring on it, Peter. Unfortunately for you, once Erica’s nails dry, she and I are going to run away and elope.”

“As if.” Erica rolled her eyes. “I am so over you, Stiles.”

“Shoot.” Stiles murmured. “Isaac?”

“Oh, I’m your second choice?” Isaac huffed. “Fat chance now.”

“Damn. Guess you get another chance, then.” Stiles said to Peter, like he was only a little torn up about it. 

“Lucky me.” Peter said, voice laced with sarcasm.

“Yes. Lucky you.” Stiles’s attention was mostly on his computer, though. 

“Do you hear that?” Erica asked, suddenly sitting erect. The men in her service both paused to listen. Stiles looked up.

“What-” but Erica was already leaping forward, pulling him away from his spot next to the door and to the ground, totally fucking up her nails, her body covering his as something barreled through the closed door. Splinters flew everywhere and Peter and Isaac were already up, ready to fight.

Stiles had landed on his stomach and could see nothing, only hear the sound of a struggle a few feet before him and feel Erica’s weight on his back, holding him down.

Erica let him up about fifteen seconds later, and he saw Peter and Isaac, panting, standing over a dead omega in their motel room. Their door was busted open and a crowd was forming, so Stiles took Peter and Isaac into the bathroom as Erica told everyone to fuck off and quickly packed their bags.

“What the fuck was that?” Stiles hissed as the two wolves listened at the door for an all clear from Erica, signaling a good moment for escape. They only had so much time until the police we called.

“Rouge omega - I think.” and Peter seemed uncomfortable with his own lack of knowledge. “Why he would attack us here-”

“Do you think they knew it was us? Maybe it was random? Just a crazy wolf - breaking into motel rooms at random. Because he’s crazy.” Stiles suggested.

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. We-” but he cut himself off as he opened the bathroom door and ushered his boys out, quickly herding them to the car Erica had packed them into.

They drove away, getting out of sight just as they started to hear sirens.

* * *

A few days later, a state over, and one more hunter gone, Erica had borrowed Stiles's laptop to check the news and update her blog. Isaac was showering and Peter and Stiles were on bed, lying on their stomachs, side by side, as they watched some made-for-TV movie on Lifetime.

“Uhm, guys.” she said, interrupting a crucial scene which would determine whether or not the heroine would be able to keep her struggling bakery while still keeping the man of her dreams. Stiles had just been remarking that he didn't understand why they had to make it seem like a struggle to do both, when the man was clearly attractive and in love and the bakery wasn't actually even doing _that_ bad. 

“Weren't you guys staying in a cabin before you took me?” she asked, already knowing the answer, her eyes trying to read the rest of the article as she spoke.

“Yes.” Peter said, easily, as he felt Stiles stiffen next to him.

“Yeah...” she said, and then paused. “Some, uhm, hikers came across it and-“

“Don't read the rest of the article!” Stiles demanded, standing up. He took a few steps towards the girl, presumably to reclaim the laptop. Peter stood as well to follow him.

“Did you kill a pregnant woman?” Erica asked, her voice on the edge of sounding betrayed. She blinked up at Stiles to see the breath punch out of him.

He managed out a desperate, quiet, “Did we kill-” and Stiles sucked in a breath. He looked behind him to Peter, a small, whimpery sound coming from the back of his throat.

Peter said, “No, we did not.” and he was assuring Erica as much as his mate. 

“They don't know you were there,” Erica continued, returning to her skimming as she ignored Stiles's frantic heart and quick, shallow breath. Peter tried to guide him back to the bed and shush him and take his face in his hands and say _breathe_ , but Stiles resisted, pulling out of his grip and standing a few feet away from him. “But Agent Hale says he thinks it might have been you two.”

“What's going on?” Isaac asked, coming out of the bathroom wearing only a towel and looking a little uncertain about everything he had obviously heard. 

“Isaac, could you please take Erica to get dinner and briefly explain the Patricia situation to her?”

“Was that our fault?” Stiles asked him.

“No,” Peter shook his head. “Isaac, now, thank you.”

But the boy had already been tugging on his clothes quickly and started to rush Erica out.

“Why did she _do_ that?” Stiles muttered as the door slammed behind the Betas. 

“Stiles-”

“Was it karma?” Stiles asked, a hand rubbing over his face “Did I _deserve_ that?” 

“No, my love.” Peter reached forward to touch him, his hand encircling the boy’s wrist to pull it down, “You could never do anything to warrant something like this. It’s not that simple.”

“But,” Stiles protested, slowly, as if thinking it all out aloud. “I’m not good. That’s why Trish took it away - because I’m not good and she didn’t want to leave her baby with someone like me.”

Peter started to speak again, saying his name, his fingers lacing with the boy’s, but Stiles pulled his hand away and took a step back. 

“ _No_.” he said, raising his voice, “Stop _lying_ to me, Peter.”

The man quickly came to a space in front of the boy, a hand on his shoulder. “You need to be quiet.” he told him.

“She took my kid, Peter.” Stiles said, pushing the man away, who stood in place as the boy tried to move him away. “She took our baby.” 

“And it wasn’t time for us to have one.” Peter said, lightly, reaching forward to still the boy’s frantic movements. “We can try again later.”

All of Stiles rebelled at the statement and he worked his way out of Peter’s grip quick enough to try to fight back. Catching the boy’s hands, Peter quickly forced him against the wall, slamming him a little too hard, knocking the breath out of his mate.

“Stiles,” Peter said, “You need to breathe. Just breathe and listen to me. We have a Pack now. You need to keep it together for them. I understand you’re grieving but your frightening Erica and making Isaac upset.” Stiles stopped struggling so much. “It wasn’t your fault - and this hurts, I know. But there are other things to be taken care of right now.”

Stiles blinked at him and nodded. “You think I’m being selfish.”

Peter sighed. “No, I think you’re in pain - but I think, largely, it’s unnecessary.” 

“ _Unnecessary?_ ” Stiles flared.

“Yes.” Peter stated, letting go of his hold on the boy but still standing close. “You only knew Trish for a few weeks. You never knew the child. You’re causing yourself more grief than you should.”

“So, what?” Stiles snapped. “I’m being stupid?”

“ _No_.” Peter stressed. “But you are thinking too much.” and he brought a hand up to fix the boy’s bangs. 

Stiles looked less angry and more just lost when Peter took him in again. When he spoke, he just sounded tired, a little removed. His eyes drifted shut.

“I haven’t been feeling well lately."

* * *

A few days later, a few cities over, the three wolves were out running. Stiles had brought up his idea to harness a sled to them again and have them pull him around but it was met by a hard no. He was alone in the motel room, flipping through TV channels, looking for something to pass the time when he head a knock on the door.

At first, he ignored it. Peter had a key or would have announced himself. But whoever it was knocked again.

“No one’s in!” he shouted, thoughtlessly, hoping they’d go away. When he didn't hear them knock again, he gave himself a triumphant, mental pat on the back. However, just as he had settled on something passable, the person outside started pounding on the door. 

“Oh my fucking God.” Stiles bitched, reaching into his weapons bag below the bed and pulling out his bat. “What the fuck about no one’s in do you not...” But the words died in his throat as he opened the door. He slammed it closed on the person's face and retreated farther in to the room, but the man got his foot in and knocked it back open.

The man - werewolf - ugly fucker - was snarling and drooling but not advancing as quickly as one might have expected. He was simply waiting by the door, watching Stiles fumble. The wooden bat he was holding, while proven to be not so effective on werewolves, was brandished high.

“Who the fuck are you?” he bit out. 

The wolf said nothing, just bared its teeth and growled.

“We’re not in your territory. Motels are safe zones or fucking _something_. So what the fuck are you doing here?”

And the wolf pounced at this point, the door swinging shut behind him as Stiles broke the bat over his head and went down. The wolf was over him, breath hot and wet. Stiles forced one hand under the ugly fucker’s chin, trying to keep snapping jaws away from his face.

He made one, loud, distressed noise, his other hand groping for anything, and he found the splintered handle of the bat. He jammed it hard into the ugly fucker’s neck before rolling out from under him and running like hell out of the motel.

He paused for half a second, remembering they didn’t have a new car yet and started taking off in the direction he thought Peter and the others had gone - which was, of course, in the direction of a heavily forested area. Had he been thinking clearly, he might have made a note to remember to tell Peter not choose motels near woods anymore. While finding Peter was his safest bet, he understood on a very deep level that running into the woods was remarkably stupid. 

He could hear the wolf behind him, but he did not look. He pushed himself harder, trying to find any sign of the others, until he head a shot and a thud and turned back to see the wolf go down.

A young man with brown hair was walking towards the gurgling, sputtering, dying wolf. When they were close enough to hear one another, the boy winked, saying, “Wolfsbane bullets.”

“Thanks.” Stiles panted, smiling grateful at his savior. 

“No problem.” They both came to stand over the wolf.

“Can I borrow that?” Stiles asked, indicating his gun.

“Uh, sure.” The other boy said, handing it over. 

“Thanks,” Stiles smiled, turning to the ugly fucker on the ground. “Who sent you?”

There was no response to Stiles shot out his kneecap.

“Who sent you?” he asked again, voice still light and easy. 

Somehow, between the growls and huffs of pain, the wolf managed out, “Kate Argent.”

"You're lying," Stiles told him, and shot out his other kneecap. The wolf whined and howled. "Who sent you?"

" _Kate Argent_."

“Hmm.” Stiles furrowed his brow before shooting him in the head without another word. He handed the gun back to the young man. “Thanks. I’ll comp you for the bullets. And, fuck, buy you a drink. I’ve got beer in the motel fridge. You want a beer?”

“I wouldn’t say no.” the young man said, shouldering his full pack, so Stiles led him out of the woods and to his motel room, leaving the wolf. They said very little to each other until they were back inside.

Grabbing two beers from the fridge and opening both, he handed one to the young man. “So, I can't just call you my hero when I introduce you to my friends. Well, I mean, I _could_ , but-”

“Matt,” the young man grinned, offering a hand, “Matt Daehler.” 

Stiles froze and then stiffly took the young man’s hand. “Not Matt as in, like, MattShotFirst, right?” 

Matt’s grin widened. “No, that’s me.”

“Shit!” Stiles smiled back, beginning to vigorously pump the young man’s hand up and down. “I didn’t know you were in town. I’m Stiles.”

“Yeah,” Matt said, his eyes darting down to where Stiles was still shaking his hand with a look of some amusement. “I know.”

Stiles flushed and laughed, letting go. “Oh, hah. Oops.” He glanced up at Matt, who was standing a lot closer to him than he had thought.

“Stiles?” Peter asked, sounding cautious as he came through the still open door, sensing a newcomer.

“Hey, Peter! It’s all cool. Come meet Matt.”

“MattShotFirst?” Erica asked, coming in after him.

“Matt!” Isaac exclaimed upon seeing the other boy.

“Oh my God - Ian, right?” Matt returned, setting his beer down with a look of surprise.

“Isaac.” Isaac said, sounding put off by the mistake.

“Oh, shit, Isaac.” Matt nodded. “Sorry. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you that.” Isaac said. The two boys did not stand much closer to each other, remaining on their opposite ends of the room. The recognition but lack of camaraderie was not lost on anyone. 

“And how do you two know each other?” Peter prompted, looking between the both of them.

“We went to high school together.” Isaac explained. 

Erica perked up. “Oh! So, the guy you knew...”

“Yeah, that was him.” Isaac nodded.

“What happened?” Peter asked Stiles, who lit up.

“There was this big, bad wolf - real ugly fucker - who broke in. Or, uh, I accidentally let in, but whatever. I took off running towards the woods because I knew that was where you were, but then this guy,” Stiles gestured with his beer, beaming, “Comes in like a badass motherfucker and saves my sorry ass. I tried to get information out of the wolf and he said Kate Argent sent him, which is kind of ridiculous, because Kate would never work with a wolf, so...” Stiles shrugged and drank from his bottle.

“I see.” Peter appraised the newcomer with no small amount of distrust. He asked Matt: “Where are you staying?”

“A few rooms over, actually.” Matt said. 

“What a coincidence.” Erica grinned. 

“Yes,” Peter said, his face finally lightening with a full smile. “A complete coincidence. What a small world.” Everyone else seemed to breathe easier, look brighter, with the Alpha now seemingly on board - with the exception of Stiles, whose own smile faltered as he gave his mate a subtle, confused look. 

“Generally, we just get some sort of take out,” Peter continued, crossing the room leisurely to get closer to his mate. “But, the least we could do is buy you dinner.” 

“Oh, no,” Matt shook his head, protesting for show. “I couldn’t intrude.”

“No,” Peter smiled smoothly, wrapping an arm around his boy’s waist, “I insist. Besides, if we’re going to work together, it only makes sense that we get to know each other better.”

“Okay. You choose the place.” Matt said in return, but he was looking at Stiles. He was silent for a moment too long, gazing at the other boy, and blinked, saying, “Just give me a few minutes to unpack and I can drive.” 

“Perfect.” Peter said, ushering him out. “No rush.” He shut the door and turned to Stiles with a concerned look on his face.

“It’s probably nothing.” Stiles said. “He could have killed me if he wanted. Or, uh, let the wolf kill me. We just need to talk to him for more than three minutes.”

“You guys don’t like him?” Erica asked. “He seems nice enough.”

“What do you think?” Peter asked Isaac, who shrugged.

“I don’t know. He's okay. Normal. I didn’t actually think that Matt _Daehler_ was your guy. I never really thought he was the type to be a werewolf hunter hunter.”

Peter was silent, considering, his arm still around his boy. “Alright. He’s useful to us anyway.” 

“So, we’re doing dinner?” Stiles clarified. 

“Yes, we are.”

“Okay, great.” Isaac said. “I have a very bold suggestion. If you will all remember, we passed a diner about a mile back.”

“No, Isaac, we aren’t going to another diner.” Peter sighed.

Isaac looked personally offended. “Why not?”

“Because the food is cheap and unhealthy. Honestly, do you want to be that stereotype?”

“The stereotype of the free soul, on the road with his friends, eating whatever he wants - which is diner food, incidentally - because he is free?” Isaac clarified. “ _Yes_. I _do_.”

“Besides,” Stiles added. “It’s not really unhealthy for you guys. I mean, I don’t think anything is really _unhealthy_ for you.”

“But, it’s not good for _you_.’ Peter stressed.

“Gosh, Peter. I’m fine. You’re gonna give me a complex or something.”

“Jesus, Stiles, not like that.” Peter groaned, eyeing him with some worry. “If anything, you’re too thin.”

“Okay, what did I just say about complexes?” Stiles huffed, clearly embarrassed by this turn of conversation.

“Hey, guys,” Isaac cut in. “I just realized that our initials spell out PIES. And if you add in our guest, Matt, it spells Mmm, PIES. Do you know where we could get some pies? A diner.” he decided.

“He has a point.” Stiles said.

“What - _no_. That is _not_ a point.” Peter growled. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s a point, Uncle Peter.” Erica told him.

Peter was silent, displeased with the shift of dynamics which allowed him to be ganged up on by a group of teenagers. “ _Fine_.”

“ _Yes_.” Isaac cried out. “Oh, fuck _yes_.” and there was a knock on the door, signaling Matt was ready to go. 

They took his car, Peter and Stiles having not acquired a new one yet, and ended up at the Dayside Diner. It was mostly empty and the tired hostess sat them around a circle table, mumbling something about specials and their waiter. 

Peter sat closer to Stiles than necessary, his hand on the boy’s knee, or arm around his shoulder, always touching him, as Isaac sat between him and Matt. Erica had slotted her arm through Matt’s, pressing herself against him and demanding he sit next to her. Matt had not seemed completely lukewarm to her advances, but there were times that he seemed like he was being more polite than anything else. Erica didn’t seem to care either way.

“So, MattShotFirst. Is that, like, a sex thing?” Erica asked, leaning in close. “You know, you _shot_ first.”

“And by shot, she means ejaculated.” Isaac clarified.

“Shut _up_ , buttmunch.” Erica growled. 

“Kids.” Peter warned. “Stop acting up for company.”

Isaac just turned to his pie, having skipped dinner while Erica glowered but said, “Sorry, Uncle Peter.”

“How did you find all of the hunters anyway?” Stiles asked to change the subject.

Matt looked smug to be asked. “A lot of hunters are more open to giving you details if you know how to look and seem removed but like you’re on their side. Plus, they know what their contacts are up to - and if their contacts are doing something stupid, like killing their wolves in unorthodox ways, they’re generally ready to complain to someone. From there, it’s just a matter of looking up current news and important people in the area.”

“And you really found Kate Argent?” Stiles asked, sounding closer to awe than incredulity. 

Matt’s eyes rested on Stiles and he smiled, the look on his face soft. “Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding too intimate for the setting, as if he was cowed by the attention of the other boy. “Yeah, I did.”

Stiles looked over at Peter, wondering if he saw the weird way Matt was gazing at him too. Peter displayed no overt signs of having seen, but squeezed his boy’s knee under the table as he said, “And, you. You said you had some personal vendetta with Kate Argent. Would you care to explain?” 

Matt snapped his gaze away from the other boy and said, “Uh... No. Sorry, it’s private.”

“Of course,” Peter allowed, waving over their waitress for the check. “But, you are, I’m sure, ready to give us her location. Now that we’ve all met, it seems rather foolish to not share that information.”

Matt nodded slowly. “Sure,” and his eyes darted back to Stiles. “I just thought...” 

“You just thought, what?” Stiles prompted, as Peter’s hand caressed up from his knee to curl around his thigh. They shared a quick look. 

The silence at the table was broken by diner door being opened and a scraggly, young woman entering. Peter’s eyes fell on her and he sat up a little straighter, his two Betas seeming to take interest as well.

“What is it?” Stiles asked.

“She’s a wolf.” Isaac said. The woman was staring back, and she flashed them a wild smile before making her way to the counter and ordering a cup of coffee, one eye on them the whole time. 

“She doesn’t seem like she’s going to do anything.” Stiles said, a hand smoothing down Peter’s arm as the man silently watched the other wolf. “Just ignore her.”

“Alright, boys, settle up. I’m going to go powder my nose.” Erica excused herself and wandered to the ladies’ room. Stiles was just grabbing the bill to stand up, but Peter’s hand tightened around his thigh, keeping him down. Before Stiles could ask, he looked and saw the werewolf newcomer following Erica into the restroom. 

“That seems shady.” Stiles stated.

“Should we go in there?” Matt asked.

“We can’t go in there.” Isaac pointed out. “That’s the ladies’ room.” 

They didn’t have to, however, because the door was broken off its hinges when Erica was thrown through it, landing on her back with a pained whine.

Everyone at the table stood, hurrying to the scene as the woman advanced on Erica, going for the neck. Peter was half way to an Alpha form as he pounced on the woman, tearing her off of his Beta. 

He slammed her against the diner wall, hard, and then slammed her again. Stiles was at Erica’s side, easing her back to her feet and, with the help of Isaac, holding her back as she lunged forward to try and attack again.

“ _Who sent you?_ ” Peter roared at the dazed woman. She said nothing, so he brought his claws to her throat and dug in. “ _Who sent you?_ ”

“Kate-” the woman choked out. “Kate Argent.”

“You’re _lying_.” Peter hissed. 

“I’m calling the cops.” a waitress said.

Stiles turned to his mate, who was not letting up his grip on the woman or moving to leave. “Shit, Peter. Cops. We have to go.” 

“Please,” Matt said. “They’re a bunch of small town hicks. You two could take care of them easily.”

Stiles looked appalled and then grit out. “We don’t kill cops. _Ever_.” To Peter he said, “Let’s _go_. I don’t want to deal with cops.”

Peter looked between his mate and the panting woman. He said, “I want to talk to her.”

“Okay,” Stiles allowed, “But not here.”

Peter nodded and started to drag the woman out. She struggled a little until he said, “You don’t necessarily have to die tonight." he growled roughly at her. "If you cooperate, you can go.” And she was compliant from then on.

“I’ll get the car.” Matt said, rushing out ahead of them.

“Stiles, take Isaac and Erica back to the motel.” Peter ordered.

“What?” Stiles flared, taking a step towards him. “I want to help you.”

Peter sighed and looked in the direction of Matt and then back at his mate. “I don’t trust my Betas with him.” The boy looked displeased, like he was going to bring this up again later, but allowed it. 

Erica, however, had her own issues with this arrangement, seething, “Uncle Peter. Take me with you.”

“No.” Peter said, pulling the woman along and out of the diner.

“But, Uncle Peter!” she whined following him. “I want to _kill_ her.”

Peter paused and looked back at her, mildly amused. Isaac and Stiles stopped, just behind them.

“I mean that in the least funny way possible.” she told him. 

“I know, dear heart.” he said, the corners of his lips sobering, his eyes softening. “But you can’t come this time. I need you to watch over Stiles and Isaac for me. Stiles will need your strength if something happens.”

“Come on.” Stiles said, cutting in, his hand at the small of Erica’s back as he guided her towards the car that Matt had just pulled up. He opened the passenger door for her. “I’ll give you head again. It calmed you down last time. I’ll even let you boss me around.”

Erica, still sour, got in on her own and huffed, “Like you could stop me,” and slammed the door shut. Isaac got in as Stiles sent a glare back at his mate and was met with gratitude in the man’s eyes. Stiles, still unhappy but slightly appeased, got into the car.

He rode shotgun with the Betas in the back. They were two minutes away from the diner when Isaac sneezed and then groaned.

“I feel like shit.” he stated.

“You shouldn’t have eaten so much pie.” Stiles told him.

“No, I feel pretty bad too.” Erica said, her head resting against the car window. “And, I’m really tired.”

Stiles looked into the back seat at the two of them, who were both looking pale and weak and beginning to sweat, and then over at Matt, driving along casually. 

“Pull over.” Stiles demanded. Matt glanced over at him and then in the rearview. 

“Not yet.” he said, accelerating a little. 

“What?” Stiles gawked, looking back to see that Isaac was leaning heavily against Erica, who had shut her eyes. “Matt, pull over.” he repeated. “I think they’re sick.”

“They’ll be fine.” Matt stated, though he did pull over, digging into his pocket for a rag. “Its just the wolfsbane I put back there. It shouldn’t be lethal if they’re only exposed to it for a few minutes and I give them the antidote when I dump them.” He pulled a bottle out from a bag at his side and Stiles groped at the door handle to make a break for it. “If you leave, I’ll let them die here.” Matt told him quickly.

Stiles tried to estimate how much time he would have to find his mate and track Matt down against how long the Betas would have but he was too panicked to think clearly and they looked like they were dying. He stayed put in his seat.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked, something close to terror creeping up his spine as he watched Matt soak the cloth.

“Nothing new.” Matt dismissed, leaning forward with the rag. Stiles struggled, desperately trying to push the chemical-stained cloth away from his mouth, unable to help himself. The young man hissed, “You’re wasting time. If you don’t sit still, you’re going to kill them.” But Stiles only faintly heard the last bit of that as he let Matt put the rag over his nose and mouth.

* * *

The first thing Stiles heard was he woke up was someone asking if he was comfortable.

“Not really.” he croaked, because he was sore all over and had a terrible headache and his neck felt too stiff. His was seated, his arms tied behind his back, but his legs were free. That slight conciliation didn’t make him feel much better.

“I wanted to touch you while you were out. You looked so peaceful. Don't worry, I kept my hands to myself - mostly.” the voice said, and Stiles groaned loudly. The voice then added, “Sorry,” but didn’t sound very genuine. “You’ll feel better in a bit. Here, drink this.” 

And the voice, _Matt_ some vague part of his brain said, brought water to his lips and tilted his head back. Instead of drinking, though, he coughed, sputtered, water running down his face. 

“Jesus Christ, Matt.” Stiles rasped. “What the hell is this?” He started to open his eyes, blearily looking around. 

It was a big, empty, cement building, not well lit. There were windows but it was raining now, so that didn’t help. Matt had lit some candles, though, and he could see a ring of mountain ash surrounding them. His eyes rested back on Matt, who grinned at him, looking more normal than deranged, which was a little off-putting. 

“It's an abandoned warehouse. Pretty fitting, huh?” 

“A little cliche.” Stiles admitted, looking around. “But, uh, story of my life, so...” 

“You don’t seem scared.” Matt pointed out. 

“Let’s see,” Stiles said, feigning thoughtfullness. “You took me away from my very unforgiving mate, the ruthless, murdering _Alpha_ , who has my scent and could track me through a rainstorm because, on top of having super-senses, he’s a genius. _And_ , he’s got two very capable Betas with him. If anyone should be scared, it’s _you_ , because I doubt he’s going to be very happy with you when he finds us.”

“I’m on the naughty list, then?” Matt beamed.

Stiles grinned back, with less humor, a half-amused baring of teeth. “Oh, at the very top. It says ‘Matt Daehler, the Naughtiest.’”

Matt chuckled and sat down in a chair across from him. His chair was very close, their legs almost brushing, and Matt could have easily reached forward to touch him if he wanted. “I bet you’re a lot naughtier than I am. Servicing all those weres like that.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, sighing. “Can we skip the weird sexual banter part of this? I’m an expert at it and I know all the tricks. Having it used so poorly on me is really obnoxious, actually.” 

“Aren’t you worried I’ll kill you before he can find us if I get bored?” Matt asked. 

“Shit, no.” Stiles laughed. “You’ve had other opportunities to kill me. Actually, you could have just had that mystery wolf kill me when we met. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with Peter. Besides,” Stiles smiled, winking, “Got a bit of a crush, don’t you?”

“Maybe I did, but now I know your way too tainted to ever be good for anything except disposal after one hard fuck. Maybe I don’t even want you alive for that.” Matt still looked too normal to be saying any of that. Stiles wanted to see his teeth - he only thought it was fair.

“Dude, gross.” Stiles chuckled, weakly.

“Besides, I bet Peter would have let me just have you if I asked. He’s ready enough to pimp you out to the rest of his puppies.” 

In a put-on, self-important voice, Stiles said, “I doubt someone like you could possibly understand the intricacies of Pack dynamics.”

“And, anyway,” Matt continued, ignoring him. “Who do you think sent those "mystery" weres?”

Stiles blinked at him, smile finally falling. “You mean-”

“You didn’t actually think it was _Argent_ , did you?” Matt mocked. “How would she know where you were? I wanted to keep you and your mate on your toes - and I had to get him away from you long enough for me to sneak in and snatch you up." The words were too friendly, too flirty, and far too light, as Matt smiled down at him. "I just told the weres that it was Kate Argent who was so graciously employing them because I needed something to fall back on if a wolf fell through. Turns out quite a few did. But, it all worked out for the best in the end.

“Fuck, Stiles,” he continued, “I don’t think Argent cares about you and your dog-mate. I don’t think she’s even aware that you’re trying to find her.” and he said it with an unbearable fondness, as if he thought Stiles was something slow and endearing.

“You’ve been tracking us this whole time.” Stiles said, softly.

Matt shrugged. “It took a while to find you initially, but when Isaac disappeared, I guessed who might have taken him. I was able to start following you two then. It got easier once I started to tell you where to go. You and your dog were both very obedient.”

Stiles groaned in annoyance, trying to work his wrists through the ropes as inconspicuously as possible. 

“I’d stop that if I were you.” Matt said. “I’m not above taking those away,” he let the other boy know. “You don’t need your hands for me to fuck you. Sit still and wait for your mate.” 

Stiles stopped his struggle and looked around, starting to feel the weight of his capture. “And why are we waiting for Peter, exactly?”

“We’re going to trade.” the young man explained, “I’m going to give him Argent’s location and he’s going to let me keep you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “You obviously don’t understand how this mate thing works.” 

“Do you?” Matt countered. “Where did you get all of your mating information from? Peter?” 

Stiles clammed up, choosing to glare at his captor instead of acknowledging that with a response. 

“It’d be so easy to make up some details to keep you in line. Like mates can’t live without each other.” Matt said. “That you need him.”

“I love Peter,” Stiles said, stiffly. “It’s not like he told me to do that and I did it on command or something.” 

“I think it actually might be a little bit like that. I don’t know much about your circumstances, but I heard from a hunter who was around when Kate Argent pulled her little revenge play on you that Peter wasn’t all there for your mating. That disease probably spread to you. You have to know that you’re not all right up there. And falling in love with your rapist...” Matt shook his head, still smiling. “Well, if you could do it once, I’m sure you can do it again. Good chance for me, huh?”

And Stiles finally looked at him with some amount of panic, which really seemed to perk the other boy up. He choked out. “Peter didn’t-“

“Oh, I think he did.” Matt nodded, finding a sore spot to stick his fingers in. He twisted in harder. “And now he’s got this dirty mess on his hands. He’s got a mindsick slut of a mate he can’t get rid of all because of some mistake he made when he was acting on instinct. I mean, after so long of inactivity, I’m sure his wolf was looking for the first sweet-smelling bitch to bury itself in.”

“It wasn’t like that. Peter loves me.” Stiles assured him.

“Uh-huh.” Matt said, indulgently. “Does he ever actually say that to you?”

“He doesn’t _have_ to.”

“Why? Because he’s your “mate?” Christ, Stiles,” he laughed. “Get a fucking clue. He doesn’t love you. He has no reason to and, once he finds a way to break the bond, he’ll do it instantly and leave you all alone. No Pack, no mate, no nothing. Just you and your filth.”

“Matt, you sound like an idiot. Stop before you embarrass yourself more.” Stiles said, his voice carrying its put-on impartial annoyance well.

“Then why hasn’t he turned you?” Matt asked. “If you were a were, the bond between you would be even stronger.”

“We can’t risk it.” Stiles explained. “If the bite didn’t take, it’d be bad for both of us. Besides, it’s good to have a human or two in a Pack. They can help with things. Wolfsbane,” he suggested, and added, looking at the barrier, “Mountain ash.”

Matt huffed out a laugh. “Is that what he told you? You’re so naive.” 

“I’m not _naive_.” Stiles snapped. 

“No,” Matt agreed, relenting. “Just crazy. And a strong, healthy Alpha with strong, healthy Betas doesn’t need a weak, crazy mate. 

“Come on, think it through.” Matt urged. “There’s bound to be a way to get out of the mating bond and Peter’s getting awfully good at research. It’s only a matter of time til he gets rid of your loose sluthole and “Peter and Stiles” become “Peter and strong, capable, new and improved Mate 2.0." I mean, why else would he have sent you with me? He doesn’t trust me. He knew that I could do anything. He just doesn’t _care_ about you, Stiles."

"That's not _true_ -" Stiles started.

“But, lucky for you,” Matt continued on, ignoring him “I can forgive you for being such a whore. I’ll always love you, my unfaithful slut,” and Matt reached forward to touch Stiles’s cheek, so he turned his face away with a jerk. 

“What I am is none of your business and will never belong to you. I’m not a whore.” 

“Please,” Matt scoffed, sitting back. “I’ve seen the reports. All you’ve got to work with is sex. All you can do is spread your legs and try to look pretty. Peter - and now Isaac and the girl - they’re the only ones with any real power.”

“ _Yes_.” Stiles hissed. “Because I run with _wolves_. They have claws and teeth and super-strength and I don’t. I’m working with what I have. If you weren’t such an incompetent child, only looking at this with your dick-brain, you might actually see that what I do is as effective and destructive as Peter.

“Violence is sexual, Matt. It always has been. With penetration and pounding and your body dominating another person’s. However, I don’t have the necessary means for a subtle approach so most days I go for more overt displays of power. Do not ever call me a slut like that again. I am a predator.”

“Oh, I get it.” Matt laughed, still making fun of him. “You’re a real _artiste_. Well, _slut_ ,” he bit out, one hand crawling up Stiles’s thigh, “Why don’t I show you an overt display of power?” His fingers started to fumble at the other boy’s zipper, easing it down. “I know you’re old hat at being raped at this point, but I’m new. Maybe you could give me some pointers. Tell me if I’m dominating you enough.” 

Leaning in even more, he mouthed at the other boy’s neck, his fingers dipping into his underwear. Stiles grit his teeth and looked away, Matt murmuring into his skin, “No one’s ever going to love you the way I do. You’ll get that soon.”

“You don’t hurt people you love,” Stiles said, his voice strained. “Not like this.”

“Oh, shh.” Matt cooed, trying to work Stiles hard. “We’re just playing. I would never actually hurt you. You’re too precious. You’re mine. I just know what you like. It gets you hot, being forced.” 

“Eat shit.” Stiles bit out, so Matt bit down, and the door to the warehouse banged open.

Peter looked furious, sopping wet, his two Betas following behind him. He snarled, seeing his mate so restrained.

“Tell your pups to wait outside.” Matt ordered, puling away from Stiles. With a small jerk of his head, Peter dismissed his Betas. “Good dog.” Matt grinned and Peter growled. 

“What’s the purpose of this?” Peter demanded, getting as close as he could to the ring of mountain ash. 

“Stiles, why don’t you tell him?” Matt suggested. 

Stiles looked over at his mate and then down at his own lap. “He wants to trade the location of Kate Argent for me.”

Peter was quiet as he glanced between the two humans, composing himself. “You’ll tell me where Kate Argent is? All I have to do is give you Stiles?” 

“Yeah.” Matt smiled. “Not such a bad deal, huh?”

“And what do you think you would do with my mate?” Peter asked, seeming perfectly calm and reasonable now.

Matt grinned even wider. “Nothing that you haven’t done.” He looked over at the tied up boy and then allowed, “Maybe a few things you haven’t done.” 

Peter smiled at him easily. “To be honest, I’m not sure how much fun you would have with him. He’d bite your dick off the minute you put it anywhere near his mouth - and that’s one of his biggest draws.”

“I guess I’ll just have to pull out all his teeth then.” Matt winked, like it was a shared joke, and cupped a hand under Stiles’s jaw. He only tightened his grip when Stiles tried to flinch away. 

Peter’s face fell as he considered the boy handling his mate. “And how, exactly, do you propose this little transaction will carry out? I doubt you trust me and I most certainly to not trust you.”

“You’ll have to give me the benefit of the doubt.” Matt said. “You and your little werepack can turn around and leave me with Stiles. Once I feel we’re safe, I’ll email you her location.” 

“And, how do I know you’ll make good on this promise?”

Matt looked at Peter evenly. “As I said - benefit of the doubt. Do I sound like I’m lying?” 

Peter hummed. “Yes, well, how about we try something else? You cannot stay in the barrier forever. So, I’ll wait until you're done pretending you can hide there forever and then we can work out a new deal.” 

“No dice, dogggie.” Matt shook his head, moving over to his bag to pull out a handgun. “The longer I have to stay here, the closer I am to blowing out his brains.” He gestured vaguely to Stiles with the gun. “I’m not good at being boxed in.”

Stiles made an unintentional sound of distress and Matt moved to comfort him instantly, running a hand through his hair and over his cheek. “Shh, baby,” he hushed. “Don’t worry - I’d blow my brains out next. I wouldn’t make you go by yourself. I won't leave you alone.” 

Stiles looked over to Peter with panic and saw, for the briefest moment, the look almost reflected in his mate’s eyes. Peter sighed, sounding annoyed, though.

“How about this?” he stated. “I know a few ways to break a mating bond. I’ll do one of those. You can tell me where Kate Argent is and we can all go on our merry ways.”

“What?” Stiles breathed.

Matt, elated, nodded, “Perfect!” and he turned his attention to the other boy, who was looking hurt between his mate and Matt. “I told you so. I told you he didn’t want you anymore. Didn’t I tell you?” 

Stiles just blinked over at Peter, it evident on his face that he couldn’t tell if the man was serious or not. As Matt was gloating, Peter sent his boy a very soft look and pressed one finger over his lips in passing as a request for silence. Hearing the boy’s almost unperceivable exhale of relief and his heart rate even out made the man visibly more relaxed. 

“What do we need?” Matt asked.

“I’ll need to be touching him.” Peter said.

Matt protested. “Absolutely not. Do you think I’m stupid?” 

“Hardly.” Peter allowed. “But all the methods I know of call for physical contact between the two parties. At least bring him closer to me.” 

While he looked reluctant to do so, Matt did drag the chair closer to the mountain ash barrier, setting Stiles down to face his mate. 

“Peter,” Stiles murmured, gazing up at the man. 

Peter met his gaze, the look on his face very serious, and his eyes darted to the barrier. “Everything’s going to be okay.” he promised, just as Stiles kicked out his foot to break the circle. Peter was over the line and on Matt before he could even raise his gun.

Stiles couldn’t see them, even when craning his neck to try and peek over his shoulder. However, he could hear the growling and tearing and Matt screaming, until Matt stopped screaming and there was only growling and tearing. 

“Are Isaac and Erica okay?” Stiles rushed out, the only noise now being his mate's footsteps. Peter hummed an affirmative and, quite suddenly, there were hands untying him, and those hands were cupping his cheeks and on his hair and there were arms around his shoulders as Peter pulled his mate into him until they were both kneeling on the ground. 

“I’m sorry.” Peter said, his arms tight around his boy. “Stiles, I came as quickly as I could but-”

“Shh,” Stiles hushed, pulling back as much as Peter would let him, which was not much, his fingertips lightly splaying on his mate’s face, touching Matt’s blood. “You came. You came and I’m okay. It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry.” Peter repeated. “I should have never left you with him.”

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “I’m sorry I lost us our only lead. I don’t know how we’ll find her now. I’m so sorry, Peter.” 

“Don’t _say_ that.” Peter said, almost looking horrified. 

Stiles bit down and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m really tired, Peter. Can we go back to the motel?” 

“Of course.” the man said, softly, helping him up. Stiles glanced back to see that Matt was no longer Matt but a head and body disconnected. They went out to the two Betas waiting expectantly outside in the rain and took their new car back to the motel.

* * *

Stiles got into the shower immediately, without a word, and Peter, unwilling to leave his mate again, sent the Betas to Matt’s room to break in and dig through his possessions. They brought back his bag and laptop and Peter sent them away again, to bring back dinner.

Stiles came out, fifteen minutes later, already clothed, his hair damp, as Peter sat in front of the password protected laptop, trying to guess. He stopped when his mate came in but said nothing, and the response he received was similar as Stiles silently came to sit next to him.

“Matt’s?” Stiles asked, sounding very tired.

“Yes. He must have some records on here.” Peter said, his free hand coming down to lace his fingers with Stiles’s. The boy gripped back a little tighter than necessary. “Maybe he’ll have something that can lead us to Kate.”

Stiles looked down at their hands. “Peter, I’m sorry.”

“Stiles,” Peter said, very firmly. “You did nothing wrong. You haven’t cost us anything. We still have his laptop, which is probably more help to us than he would have ever been - if I can just figure out his password.”

“Oh, I can do that.” Stiles said, instantly. “Bypass it at least,” and he pulled his hand away to start fiddling with the computer. He shot Peter a grin and an unbearably relieved, “See, I’m not totally useless.”

Peter looked at him with a certain intensity and Stiles turned back to the screen, worrying he had misspoken.

“There!” he said, after another minute or two, but his voice had lost some of its bravado. He let Peter drive again. 

“There has to be something in his documents or messages with other hunters.” Peter said. “It might take us a while but-”

“What do you think “Hunter Contact List” is?” Stiles asked, pointing at a little icon on the desktop. Peter moused over and double-clicked and up came five pages of hunter details in alphabetical order. And there she was. 

Stiles choked. “Is that-”

“Yes.” Peter hummed. “I believe it is.”

“Well, what the fuck does that mean?” Stiles bitched, deflating a little at her entry on the “Address” column. All it said was _Boat - OR_.

“I believe it means she’s on a boat somewhere in Oregon.” Peter said, a small amount of amusement edging into his voice. “Perhaps Matt couldn’t find an exact location for that.”

Stiles was silent again as he looked around the motel room. “Where’s Erica and Isaac?”

“Getting dinner.” Peter said, and he flipped the laptop shut, deciding to properly inspect its contents at another juncture. “We should talk.”

“I know.” Stiles nodded. ‘I don’t want them with us when we get Kate. I know we said any added Pack could help, but I don’t think they should be here for this. We should send them to Derek’s early.”

“While I agree with you completely,” Peter allowed, “That is not what I meant.”

“Oh?” Stiles hushed. “I can’t think of why you’d want to talk about _that_.”

“And “that” would be?” Peter clarified.

“The thing with Matt.” Stiles said. “I mean, everyone was okay in the end.” He paused and then added, “Except Matt, but whatever.”

“What did he say to you?” the man urged.

“Nothing interesting.” Stiles shrugged.

“If it wasn’t interesting,” Peter said through his teeth, “You would just answer the question. We need to talk about this. He said something and it’s shaken you. I can’t have that.”

“I know,” Stiles groaned, guilty and looking away. “I need to get it together. I’m being a problem. I promise, I’ll be fine soon. I won’t bother you with it again.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Peter said, trying to ease off his frustration. “If he said something that’s caused you grief we need to discuss it.”

Stiles shook his head. “Not yet.”

Peter paused, taking him in evenly. “Once we get the pups off. Tomorrow.”

“Okay, okay.” Stiles nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Isaac and Erica came back a few minute later and Stiles embraced them and told them the news and helped them look for bus routes back to California. He answered their questions about Matt vaguely, always reminding them that what was important was that they were all okay.

* * *

“This is Agent Hale.” Derek’s voice gruffed out over the line.

“ _Agent_ Hale.” Peter purred, watching Stiles, grinning wildly, drag Isaac into the bus depot to look at something. “Good morning.”

“Peter.” Derek choked out. “You - This - It’s been a while.” 

“Yes.” Peter hummed. “It has. Is anyone listening to this call?” he asked smoothly.

“No.” Derek rushed in earnest and Peter heard the truth. 

“Good.” Peter smirked. Erica had joined the boys, who were still looking up in awe. She threw her head back, laughing, and tugged Isaac’s arm, pointing upwards at the wall. 

“I saw the cabin in Wyoming.” Derek managed out, still seeming slightly shocked, out of breath, almost. “Some hikers found it. I know you didn’t mean for that woman to die. When I talked to Stiles that night - Oh, God, is Stiles okay?” 

“I want you to consider your definition of okay and then decide if that has ever applied to Stiles at any point in the past few years.” Peter said. He received no response. “You said some awfully unkind things to my mate when you last spoke. It had him quite upset. I would like you to never do that again.” The words were spoken lightly but there was an edge that made the demand and the threat very clear.

“I know.” Derek grumbled. “I won’t.”

“And you’ll thoroughly apologize to him when we see each other again.” Peter added.

Derek said, “Okay,” but he sounded sad, like he didn’t want to be reminded of their separation.

Peter smiled to himself. "Now that that’s out of the way, I want you to be at the bus station tonight around nine or ten. You should put in for some time off as well - if you don’t just quit altogether. Also, it would be in your best interest if you made up the spare bedroom.”

“What-”

“And, for God’s sake, make sure the fridge is stocked. I swear, the lack of concern you have for yourself is appalling.”

“How would you know?” Derek growled.

Peter smirked. “Because I know you, Derek.” and the statement fell to silence, which just proved that Peter was right in his assessment.

“Are you really coming home?” and Derek sounded so shaky over the line, nearly overwhelmed by hope and sorrow. He had been alone for too long. 

Peter hummed in something close to amusement. Stiles and the others were beginning to walk out to the car. “Don’t be late. Nine tonight at the bus station.” He hung up without saying goodbye and stepped out of he car to meet his beaming mate.

“Peter,” the boy hurried out, “You would not believe what they have in there.”

“What?” he indulged.

“Mounted deer heads.” Stiles gushed. “Like, tons of them.”

“Like, over fifty, Uncle Peter.” Erica added. 

“There were quite a few.” Isaac allowed. 

“Can we _please_ buy one and send it with them to Derek?” Stiles asked. “As a present? He’ll absolutely hate it and love it at the same time. He’ll have all these terrible, conflicting emotions and it will be perfect.”

Peter grinned. “Maybe for Christmas. Does everyone have their ticket?” 

Isaac nodded. “Bus goes in ten.”

“Oh?” Peter breathed. “You’ll probably want to board soon, then.” and he helped them get their things from the car and they all walked to the stop together, Stiles chatting nervously to his pups the whole time. 

“Derek seems grumpy - and he is - but he’s a total softie deep down. So try to be nice. He’ll get on your nerves, but you’re getting on his, and while he totally _deserves_ that, he’s still Pack.” Stiles looked between the Betas and down the road the bus would be coming from, quiet for only a second before continuing.

“Feel free to tell him where you last saw us if he asks, because he will. We won’t be here by the time he knows. And, make sure he’s taking care of you. If you need something, ask for it. He has the means, even if he lives like he doesn’t.

“And fucking make sure he gives you guys a bed.” Stiles hurried as he saw the bus coming. “Don’t let him make you sleep on the floor. And don’t just eat Chinese take-out. And, don’t let him be too lonely. Peter and I are gonna call all the time and we’ll be home soon and - oh.” The bus had pulled up and people, with final parting embraces, were beginning to board.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Erica as Isaac curled into Peter’s side, allowing him one last time to scent the boy. Stiles said, the words muffled into blonde hair, “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Promise you won’t run alongside the bus like a bad movie?” Erica asked, laughing, hugging back. 

“You want to deny me my one last cliche with you guys?” Stiles murmured, pulling away a little as she nudged him back, her mouth pressed against his neck. 

“Yes. It would just make me emotional.” and she nuzzled and nipped at his throat, inhaling his scent as he pet through her hair. 

“Okay, okay.” Isaac said, nudging Stiles out of her grip. “My turn.”

“Aw, Isaac.” his arms around the other boy’s waist as Isaac nosed under his jaw. “I’m gonna miss you too.” 

“And, I think I’ll miss you most of all, Uncle Peter!” Erica exclaimed, throwing her arms around the man’s neck. 

“And I you, dear heart.” he said before kissing her, licking inside her mouth, one hand tangling into her hair as he tilted her head back just the slightest bit.

“Isaac, that’s-” and Stiles cut off in a groan as Isaac bit down a little too hard and _sucked_. “Gonna miss your bus, buddy.” he managed out weakly. And looking up, he could see they were starting to draw the attention of the other passengers. Isaac and Erica pulled back and picked up their bags.

“Give Derek a kiss for me.” Stiles said to both of them as they started to climb onto the bus. “Or, uh, don’t. That might be weird for you. Tell him I love him.” 

“Bye, Stiles.” Erica finalized, still laughing.

Peter took his mate’s hand and squeezed it as the bus doors shut and their pups started to drive away, waving goodbye out of a dark-tinted window as they went. 

Stiles, one hand still raised, said softly to Peter, “We might never see them again.”

‘I’d say I’m feeling rather optimistic at our chances of reunion.” Peter remarked.

Stiles turned back to face him, half-smiling. “Hey, the kids are gone. It’s just you and me again.” he raised his eyebrows meaningfully. “You know what that means?”

“It means that we’ll be getting a motel room a little earlier tonight.” Peter said, starting to lead his mate back to the car.

“You’re damn right.”

* * *

They made it far out of town before stopping in the early afternoon to get a room. Peter had offered to take Stiles out for dinner, but the boy had asked for a rain check and had him pick up Chinese instead.

After eating quietly, Stiles having taken control of the motel TV and adamantly demanding that they watch some sappy Lifetime movie, Stiles tugged the cartons away, placing them on the bedside drawer. Peter gently eased the remote out of his mate’s hand and flicked off their movie, despite it being at a critical point in the heroine's journey of self-discovery.

“Hey,” Stiles protested weakly, not having really been watching at that point anyway. He leaned over to Peter, though, pressing a kiss under his jaw, licking at his throat. Crawling into the man’s lap, he started to undo the buttons on his shirt.

“You promised me you’d talk about Matt.” Peter started, his hand coming to cover Stiles’s, stopping his slow disrobing of the man. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this. 

“Mm-hm.” the boy nodded, but said nothing else, still mouthing at Peter’s neck. His mate sighed and put a hand on his boy’s hip stilling him. Stiles placed his hands on the man’s shoulders and stopped trying to distract him for a minute. 

“What did he say to you?” Peter murmured as Stiles sat back in his lap. The boy forced a tone of calm, even though he knew Peter could hear his heart racing in his chest. 

“Oh,” he said lightly. “Nothing much. It was all sort of expected. Boring, really.”

“Stiles.” Peter warned. “Please don’t try to lie to me. You’re terrible at it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Nothing happened. I’m fine. Come on, kiss me.” and he pulled back to cup Peter’s cheeks in his hands, trying to guide his face up. The man reached up, his fingers covering the boy’s, as he stopped him.

“Stiles, this is something we need to talk about. No one insults my mate and gets away with it.” Pulling the boy’s hands down, he started to press small kisses up his palm to his fingertips.

“He didn’t get away with it, Peter,” Stiles hushed, watching him, open mouthed, as if in awe. “He’s dead, remember?”

“He gets away with it if it still bothers you.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles murmured. “Dead’s dead.”

“Stiles, I need to know this.” Peter told him, finally pulling back to just look at him. 

Stiles sighed. “There’s not much to know. He called me a slut, touched me a little, and he told me that you didn’t really want me. It’s not like I believe that.”

“What else?” Peter asked, softly, a hand coming to rub over Stiles’s thigh.

“He, uh,” and Stiles paused, “Said you were crazy when you mated me and that’s why I’m crazy now. If you had been in your right mind, you wouldn’t have chosen me and - and, if you had, you would have wanted me the way I was. Before, I mean. Because I was - better then. And you’re a strong Alpha with a growing Pack and you deserve a strong mate - but I _am_ strong, Peter. I’m _useful_.”

“Of course you are.” Peter assured his boy. “It would be impossible to convince me otherwise. You have never disappointed me.”

“I - I know that.” Stiles said, looking down. “But sometimes... Sometimes this doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to.” Peter told him. “Nothing has to make sense. Just so long as you’re happy.”

“I _am_.”

“Then everything’s fine.” Peter leaned forward to nuzzle at his throat. “You’re my mate and you always will be and if I could have only one thing, I would always chose you.”

Stiles exhaled shakily, like it was a relief to believe him. Peter kissed his mate’s neck as the boy’s hand came to tangle in his hair. 

“I want to make love to you.” Stiles stated, before flushing, as if the terminology was embarrassing. 

“Of course.” Peter said. “Whatever you want. Always.”

So, Stiles leaned down to kiss him again and resumed helping the man out of his shirt, and then removed his own. With light, brushing hands, Peter unbuttoned and unzipped the boy’s pants, nudging him up so he could slide them off his hips and down his legs. He undid his own belt as Stiles sat back so he could shimmy the rest of the way out of his jeans. 

“You sure?” Stiles checked and Peter smirked, just snaking one hand behind his neck to guide him forward. He didn’t really kiss the boy, just licked inside his already open mouth, coaxing his tongue out so he could suck gently on it as the boy moaned a high, soft sound. 

Stiles eased Peter onto his back, licking at his pulse, trying to feel the steady thud of his heartbeat in his mouth. He kissed down his mate’s neck, working across his collarbone and chest and stomach. Peter guided him back up for another kiss and, with steady hands, Stiles went about finally ridding the man of his pants.

Once they were skin to skin and Stiles could feel how warm and hard Peter was, pressed up against his stomach, Stiles reached over to the night stand for their bottle of lube and looked at his mate, as if considering where he wanted him.

“How do you want to do this?” Peter asked, eyeing his mate as the boy tilted his head a little, thinking.

“Maybe if you could flip over.” Stiles suggested, and Peter complied as Stiles uncapped the bottle, slicking up his fingers. 

Slowly, almost cautiously as if the man might back out, the boy spread his mate with one hand and splayed his fingers over his hole. After taking a moment to rub his thumb against the rim and listen to Peter’s quiet, humming breath, he started to work one finger inside. 

He added a second, scissoring and twisting easily, slowly, into his mate’s heat. He bent forward to kiss the rim alongside his fingers, trying to wiggle his tongue inside too. Peter made some soft sound, Stiles nudging a third finger in, now kissing and nipping up the man’s back and spine.

“That’s enough,” Peter said, the slightest pant in his voice. Stiles hummed, removing his fingers to slick up his own cock. Biting his own lip, he lined himself up and started to slowly push in. 

All the way inside, Stiles felt himself panting, plastered to Peter’s back, one hand moving from the man’s hip to grope down his thigh. He pulled out a little, moaning, and Peter’s hand came back to palm at the boy’s hip as he sank back in.

“Just like that.” Peter hummed.

In a slick, rolling rock of his hips, Peter pulled forward and then thrust back to meet the boy as Stiles groaned and whined at the over-hot sensation of being inside him. His hand came down to lace with Peter’s on the bed.

“Shh, shh, I got you.” Peter shushed as Stiles started to move as well. “You doing just fine. You’re such a good boy.” 

Stiles slammed his hips forward particularly hard. Peter groaned, moving his hand from Stiles’s hip to his own leaking dick, as Stiles kept his slow, hard rhythm, huffing, “I’ve missed hearing you say that.”

“Missed saying it.” Peter panted as Stiles’s hips stuttered forward, his hand coming to cover Peter’s where it was wrapped around the man’s cock. 

“Fuck,” Stiles moaned. “God, I love you.” His hips shot bucked forward again as he neared his release. “You gotta come for me. Come for me, Peter.”

And with a few more strokes of their entwined hands and several slow, hard, erratic thrusts, Peter was spilling out, groaning and clenching down, triggering his mate’s own shuddering climax. 

They collapsed to their sides, Peter tucked into Stiles’s chest as they caught their breath.

Stiles asked after a moment, “Why don’t you want to marry me?”

Peter sighed. “Right now? You want to talk about this right now?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said.

“Did Matt say something?” Peter ventured. Stiles shrugged, and Peter flipped onto his back to better look at the boy. “You’re my mate. There’s nothing higher than that - no bigger commitment. I don’t see the point.”

“Then why don’t you just do it? When I first asked, you could have just taken me to a pawn shop and bought the cheapest ring there and said some quick, made-up vows in the parking lot. You may not believe in it but I do.”

Peter sighed again, a long-suffering exhale. “Do you want me to marry you? Right here, right now?”

“No.” Stiles scoffed. “You missed that chance. Now, I want a priest or a judge or something.”

“You do realize, due to our criminal status and your age, no minister would be able to officially marry us.” Peter pointed out. 

“That’s not the point!” Stiles flared, turning onto his stomach. “I want to _marry_ you. Why don’t you want to marry _me?_ ”

“Because we don’t _need_ to.” Peter stressed.

“But you said whatever I want,” Stiles reminded him. “Always.” He bit out. Finally, he demanded. “And you’re going to fucking marry me next chance you get or so help me God, next I will be asking for an entire fucking ceremony.”

“Fine.” Peter said back, like he didn’t care.

Stiles glared at him a moment before turning to his side, staring at the wall away from him.

“Stiles, don’t be like that.” Peter sighed, his hand coming to brush over his shoulder. The boy swatted it away. “Come on, stop that.” 

Stiles said nothing. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t take your marriage proposal as seriously as you meant. I would be _happy_ to marry you the next chance I get.”

Stiles peeked over at him before saying, “When I tell you it’s time, no arguments.”

“Fine.” Peter allowed, and Stiles turned back to face him. 

“I’m tired.” Stiles stated. “Go turn out the lights.”

“ _I_ just got fucked.” Peter said. “ _You_ go turn out the lights and bring me a towel.” 

And Stiles had to bite down to keep from laughing as he hopped out of bed to do just that.

* * *

The next morning, Stiles was dozing in the motel bed and it was almost getting late, but Peter didn’t see the harm because it was a Sunday and he figured the boy deserved a rest. Peter was just getting back from a breakfast run and he grabbed his cell phone out of his bag, dialing his nephew. 

“Yeah?” and the greeting was aggressively bad-tempered, already hostile.

“Derek, where are your manners?” Peter asked as if astonished and affronted by his behavior. 

“What the fuck is this, Peter?” Derek snarled.

“You knew I was building up Pack. Those are your new Packmates.” 

“I knew you’d turned one _teenager_ ,” Derek spat out the word. “But _two_ , Peter? Really?” Derek ranted. “They get off the bus and are immediately _on_ me. The boy was scenting me - and he smelled like you two - and the girl _kissed_ me. She said _Stiles_ told her to do it for him. I had two _teenagers_ all _over_ me in _public_. They were making a _scene_. Did you teach them that was appropriate Pack behavior in public? Because it’s _not_ , Peter.”

“Oh, they were probably just excited to see you.” Peter cooed in mockery, sitting down on the bed next to his still, sleeping mate. 

“I take them home,” Derek complains, “God knows _why_ , and they raid my fridge and take over my bathroom - but, no worries, because of _course_ they shower _together_. Because that’s _normal_. And then, after being shown where the perfectly functional guest room is that _you_ had me get ready, they completely disregard it and climb into bed with me.”

Peter hummed, absolutely delighted. “And did you kick them out?”

Derek got much quieter as he grumbled. “Of course not.” With more volume and insolence, he added, “But only because they smell like you and Stiles.” He then paused, as if suddenly realizing how embarrassing and needy what he said sounded, and backtracked. “I mean - I didn’t want any more hassle that night. The girl is pushy.”

“Yes, she is.” Peter agreed. 

“And this morning,” Derek continued, his voice rough, “I wake up with them rutting against each other like... Like fucking...”

“Pack?” Peter supplied, running a hand through his boy’s hair. Stiles hummed and sighed, tucking himself into the warmth of Peter’s side.

He could hear Derek growl over the line as if he were in the room with them. “That is not appropriate Pack behavior.” 

“Oh. What would you know about that?” Peter asked. “Countless Packs interact like this. In fact, a majority of Packs do, to some extent.”

“I thought you were coming _home_ , Peter." and Derek's voice was wavering on wrecked as he said it, sounding like he was desperately trying to control himself. "I thought I was going to see you and Stiles again and you _weren’t there_.”

“Oh, honestly, did you really think we’d come back by bus? I have much more class than that.”

“Is that Derek?” Stiles murmured, his voice sleep soft as he peeked up. 

Derek made an audible, choking, nervous sound. “Stiles is there? Can I talk to him?” 

Peter puled the phone away and asked. “Do you want to talk to him?” Stiles shook his head. Peter placed the phone against his ear again. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Had Stiles had the super-senses needed to hear the sad, hurt whine the Beta made, he might have relented. As it was, he got up to go to the bathroom, leaving Peter alone.

“Is Isaac or Erica there?” Peter asked.

“They’re in the kitchen. Eating my food. Again.” Derek paused. “And now they’re laughing. They heard this entire conversation because you’ve stuck me with other _wolves_.”

Peter huffed. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s hardly the end of the world. Be a dear and put one of them on.” 

Derek didn’t say any more but must have grabbed one of the other Betas and shoved the phone at them because Erica’s voice chirped in his ear just as Stiles was coming out of the bathroom. 

“You didn’t tell me Derek was hot, Uncle Peter.” she accused. “Like, Stiles said he was but I thought he was gonna be, like, normal levels of attractive. But, this guy is off the chart. Too bad about that shit personality.”

Peter outright laughed, which made Stiles smile. He grabbed the cup of coffee Peter had gotten for him and a pastry from a pink box. “Is everything going alright?”

“Uh, _yeah_.” Erica said, like she didn’t see how it could be going any other way. “Big brother's a babe. Isaac’s adorable when he’s shy - and he totally is around handsome strangers - and Derek’s bed is awesome. Oh! And he has Princess Polly Frosted Cinnamon Fakes.”

Distantly, Peter could hear Derek snap _those were for Stiles_ like a child and Erica return a dismissive _yeah yeah yeah_.

“I got a yellow ring.” she told Peter. “So, you and Stiles better get here soon so he can finish up his collection.”

“I’ll be sure to relay the message.”

“Is Stiles there? Can I say hey?”

Peter held the phone out. “Erica.” he explained, and Stiles took the call, putting down his cup. 

“Hey. How was the bus ride?” he asked.

“So-so. Some bitch threw up an hour in. It was way gross.”

“Sounds it. Is Derek being a dick to you?” 

“Eh...” Erica started. “He’s okay. We _did_ kind of invade his home with no warning, so...”

“Right.” Stiles said.

“I don’t think he’ll want to help me with my nails though. He probably wouldn’t be good at it anyway. It’ll just be me and Isaac. Tell Peter I miss him. He was very good at it. Precise.”

Peter smirked and Stiles said, “He'll be pleased to know you're being so pragmatic about it.” The man snorted and pulled off his shirt in one smooth motion. Stiles swallowed. “How's Isaac?”

“Seems a little nervous.” Erica allowed. “But, he’ll be fine. Just needs to adjust.” 

“Well, send my love.” Stiles said, his eyes locked on his mate as the man leaned forward to nuzzle and lap at his neck. 

“How was your first night alone since forever?” Erica asked, her voice low and knowing.

“It was awesome.” and Peter was sucking a hickey onto his neck, his fingers coming to flick over the boy’s nipple. “And, apparently, not over. Gotta go, Erica. Love you all. Bye.” he rushed out before ending the call and tossing the phone aside. 

“You’re the worst.” Stiles said, as Peter kissed and licked down his torso. “And the best.” he added, the man glancing up to grin at him. “And I love you.” and, with a playful growl, his mate lowered his mouth to his already hard cock.

* * *

It took two weeks to pin her down. While Oregon was a good place to zero in their search, it was, unfortunately, a vast state with many places to hide. Most of the research Stiles did was not about Kate Argent and her whereabouts but about boats. When Peter asked, the boy had just shrugged, telling him it might come in handy. 

What is really came down to was one stroke of good luck after days of futile searching. Peter had met two hunters in a bar and, after being told that they were too famous for some normal citizen like Peter to have heard of, he started to buy them drinks. Drunk, they had ranted about “the bigshot bitch on the boat” in some small town with a little harbor. Apparently, she was on vacation and refusing to help two ‘low-on-the-chain, piss-ant wannabes with shit for brains’ - her words, not their’s - with their ‘stupid pest infestation.’

Neither Peter nor Stiles had known that hunters _could_ go on vacation but they didn't complain as they booked themselves into the town's only motel. (It wasn’t even a motel - it was an _inn_ , but Stiles figured the only difference was they had to have quiet sex instead of their usual, anything-goes trysts. Also, they did laundry there.)

So, after very quiet sex - though, Stiles wasn’t sure they would have had it any other way, regardless of location, he lay on his front, Peter on his back, as he walked his fingers up his mate’s stomach and chest, hiking them around the plane of the man’s torso.

“What are we going to do?” Stiles murmured. “After all of this? Once we get back to California?”

“Anything we want,” Peter said. “That’s the point.”

“Sure,” Stiles allowed, flattening his palm over Peter’s heart. “But what do you want?”

Peter hummed and drew Stiles’s hand up, lacing it with his own. “Well, for starters, I think I’ll keep you in bed for a week - at least.”

“You do realize we’ll probably be living with Derek. I doubt he’d appreciate that.” Stiles grinned.

“Fuck Derek.” Peter said succinctly.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “During or after our week-long camp out in his bed? Will we be keeping him in bed with us or does he have to stand at the side?”

Peter laughed and flipped them over in an easy movement. “I’m sure we can fit him in somewhere. And we won’t be staying in his apartment. We’ll get a house.” 

“Of course. With a little, white picket fence.” Stiles nodded.

“And a dog.” Peter added. “Actually, I think our first act once we get back to California should be to move out to California. Move North.”

Stiles gasped. “To _Canada?_ ” he whispered, like it was a dirty word.

“Anywhere you want.” Peter hummed, kissing down his chest a little. “We can have a house, away from everyone else. Just Pack. Maybe a farm.” he said, lightly, “We’ll only need to go into town a few times a year.”

“That’s a commune, Peter.” Stiles pointed out. “You’re describing a commune.”

“Hmm, so I am.” he murmured, lingering at his mate’s nipple, kissing and nipping and sucking it into his mouth.

“And, what will we do? Besides farm and paint our fence a new coat of white each week.” Stiles asked, squirming and flushing a little.

“Consulting.” Peter hummed, not even having to think about it. 

“Consulting.” Stiles repeated. “And what would we, uh-” and he jerked a little as Peter kissed down his happy trail and skipped over his half-hard cock to bite at his inner thigh. “Uhh... Consult. What would we consult on?”

‘Whatever people paid us for. Supernatural happenings. Villainous acts. Catching the perpetrators of villainous acts. People will pay for almost anything if you claim to be an expert.”

“I would say we’re experts on supernatural happenings and villainous acts.”

“I would say so.” Peter echoed, nuzzling just under his mate’s balls, and pulling his hips up a little to lap at his taint.

“Oh, Peter. _Please_ ,” Stiles said, thoughtlessly. 

“Again?” Peter asked.

“Yeah.” Stiles murmured. Peter surfaced, drawing himself up the boy's body and, his hands spreading Stiles open, sliding in to the wet mess of his boy’s hole. He thrust shallowly, as if worried about putting too much distance between them. 

“Oh, Peter, oh, Peter,” Stiles chanted, his hands gripping at his mate’s back and hair as Peter breathed in his neck. “I love you, I love you. Touch me, please.”

As Peter’s hands slipped between them, he murmured hot in his boy’s ear, “I’m going to knot you,” and Stiles said a soft, breathless _okay_ , which had Peter biting down hard onto his neck. Stiles came like that, Peter’s knot swelling inside of him and a dark bruise being made on his skin. 

Peter breathed and kissed and licked over his mark until Stiles cupped his face and brought it directly over his own. He kept it steadily above him; not bringing it down to kiss, just to look.

“I think I’m really scared, Peter.” the boy admitted, the words choking out of him.

Peter wanted to asked what of - because of Kate or because the end was near. But instead, he just soothed a hand down his side and said, “I know, my love. I know. Me too.” And Peter wasn’t really sure what he was afraid of either.

* * *

They got up very early the next morning, wanting to make it to Kate before she woke up. While Peter went into a coffee shop to get them a quick, to-go breakfast, Stiles groggily punched numbers into his cell phone and brought it to his ear, yawning. 

Erica answered after the fourth ring. “Yeah?” she groaned.

Stiles, still tired, tried to sound a little perkier. “Erica, hi. Sorry to wake you up.”

“Stiles!” she said, a smile in her voice. “How are you?”

Stiles blanked. All he could think to say was, “I’m keeping on the sunny side.” and she laughed, a throaty, sleepy sound.

“Stiles, I met a boy. You have to meet him. His name is Boyd-” and she yawned here, so part of her message was lost, “-make a good wolf. He smells good. Has big hands.”

“That’s so great.” Stiles said. “Can you put Derek on?”

“You wanna talk to Derek?” she clarified.

“Uh-huh. Give Isaac my love. Go back to sleep.”

“Mm-hm,” she said, “Love y-” and the phone was taken away from her.

“Stiles?” Derek sounded much more awake.

“Hey, Derek.” Stiles said, a little breathless to hear him again.

“Stiles, I’m so sorry-” Derek started.

“No,” the boy shut him down. “Later. I’m expecting a very length apology from you and we don’t have the time right now.”

Derek huffed. “Look-”

“No. No fighting with me this morning.” Stiles chastised.

“Why did you call so early?” Derek gruffed.

“Uhm...” Stiles stalled. “Because I wanted to talk to you.”

Growling, Derek asked, “ _Why?_ ”

“I just... thought I should. To say that I love you very much and I miss you.”

Derek was quiet. “Stiles, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. “Can't I just call you at inconvenient times to proclaim my undying love for you, even though you’re an ass?”

“Stiles,” Derek scowled.

“No, I didn’t mean that.” he relented. “I mean, I did. You _are_ an ass, but I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“You found her, didn’t you? You’re going after her today?” Derek said.

“Who?” Stiles asked, his voice small, pseudo-sweet.

“Goddamn it, Stiles. Stop being an idiot.”

“Stop being mean for, like, one fucking second!” Stiles snapped. “Can’t we just have one conversation where we don’t try to hurt each other? Did it occur to you that I’m calling you because I might not make it and you’re the last person I want to talk to?” 

There was silence on the line until Derek admitted, “No,” very quietly, “That hadn’t occurred to me." 

Stiles sighed. “Of course not.”

“Why?” Derek asked, his voice harsh.

“Why?” Stiles repeated, choking on the word, a sound almost like a hoarse laugh leaving his mouth. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “Maybe because you’re my oldest living friend.” Something in his chest clenched up until sore and he rubbed at his eyes.

“Stiles...”

“Please don’t say we’re not friends.” Stiles begged.

Derek, sounding too soft, asked, “Why would I ever say that?” 

“Please tell me you love me.” He saw Peter stepping out of the coffee shop and raised a hand in a weak wave. Peter walked a little faster.

“I love you, Stiles. I love you so much. I love you-” and Peter was in the car, the coffee cups in the holder and his hand under the boy’s eyes to wipe away wetness.

“Bye, Derek.” Stiles hushed.

“Please, don't go” Derek hurried out. “Come home. You don’t have to do this. You can just come home. Don’t-”

Stiles hung up the phone and Peter wrapped his arms around his boy and took him in.

* * *

When they got to Kate Argent’s house boat, it was just turning light. Peter said he could hear her sleeping, so Stiles broke the mountain ash barrier lining the deck and hopped on. Peter undid the rope keeping them tethered to the dock and stepped on as well. Stiles had gone to the front of the boat, starting up the engine to begin steering them to open water. Peter reached into one of their bags and set up a tarp over the deck. 

He waited by the stairs for Kate Argent, who was awake now and scrambling around down below, to surface. When she did, they were far away from shore, the other boats still visible but very small, and she held a gun at the ready.

However, due to the position of the stairs, coming up, her back was to both men, Peter was able to come up from behind her and take her by surprise. His hand circled her neck, not tight enough to choke, yet, but certainly enough to suggest the idea.

“Who are you?” Kate asked, standing rigid as she stared out at the distance shore and felt claws being to dig into her neck.

“Drop your weapon and I’ll be more than happy to show you.”

He heard her huff, probably amused, and something like a smile crept into her voice. “I know you.” she said, slowly.

Peter hummed. “ _Good_.” And he tightened his grip just to hear her gag, reaching around to her to take the gun in his own hand and pry it away. “Then you know why I’m here.”

“You want me to finish the job?” she gasped out. Peter threw her to the ground with a snarl. She laughed a moment after impact, harshing out, “Want me to put you down, like a mad dog? Put you out of your misery?”

Peter was on her quickly, straddling her legs, fingers wrapping around her throat and under her cheeks, trying to break her jaw off, as she bucked under him and squirmed, one hand pushing at his chest. He could feel her struggles weaken and he was just thinking that subduing her would be easier than he thought, until he heard a click and a firm pressure jammed up against his crotch. Peter stilled, though his hand remained on her jaw.

“I always wanted to fix a mutt, myself.” she said. “Would it grow back?”

Peter said nothing, because he honestly wasn’t really sure if it would. Depending on how extensive the damage was, functionality could be impaired or very well lost. 

“Up.” Kate ordered, her voice less playful and Peter was left with no option but pulling off of her and letting her scramble out from under him, the hand on the gun shaking in a slight, almost unnoticeable way.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have wolfsbane bullets,” she said. “But I’m sure you can only survive so much brain damage. And even a wolf can drown.” Her eyes were steady on Peter, taking in his forced still, calm demeanor with no small amount of delight. “We could monologue forever, but it’s a little early for that, I think, and I need my beauty sleep. So, goodbye-”

Stiles struck her upside the head with his new, metal bat and she went down, only making a slight thud as she fell. 

Peter sighed, moving to their bag for the rope. “You took your time.”

“I didn’t want her to hear me.” Stiles explained, already kneeling to hold her wrists for his mate to tie. “I couldn’t risk her jumping. I really didn’t want her to shoot your dick off. I _need_ that.”

“Your concern is staggering.” Peter said.

Kate was groaning as Stiles moved to secure her legs and Peter pat her down for weapons. Once sure she was harmless, Peter picked her up and dragged her to the tarp, slamming her down. 

“I killed you.” she moaned out to Stiles.

“Yeah, well, no, you didn’t. Obviously.” Stiles rolled his eyes, coming to stand next to his mate in front of her. 

“But, I _killed_ -” she tried to stress. Stiles took a step forward with his bat and she stopped talking. He snorted.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“We brought something very special for you.” Peter smiled. “I think you’ll appreciate it.” He looked at Stiles, who grinned back and left to dig through his bag before pulling out a car battery attached to a jumper cable and a switch. 

“I could see the smell of you burning getting to me and my mate,” Peter continued. “But he and I will just have to suffer through it – for the poetic justice of it.”

“Peter loves poetry.” Stiles told Kate.

“Would you like to beg for your life now or later?” Peter asked. “Who knows – I might be merciful if you apologize.” 

“Wolves are incapable of mercy.” she spat. “I would never beg. Not to you or your little dam.” And she bared her teeth at both of them, like she thought she could still inspire some amount of emotion when so thoroughly tied.

“Are you sure about that?” Peter smirked.

“Peter,” Stiles said, a contemplative look on his face. “I want to make her a deal.”

The man frowned. “What?”

“You’re technically the captain of this vessel, aren’t you?” Stiles asked Kate. She didn’t respond. “You’re the captain. Captains can perform marriages.”

Peter flared. “She’s not that kind of captain.”

Stiles sent him a look. “You _said_ -”

“She won’t do it.” Peter stated.

“Do what?” Kate asked warily. 

“I want you to marry us.” Stiles said. “Me and Peter.”

“Absolutely not.” She snarled. “I’m not marrying a pedophile _wolf_ and his bitch.”

“See.” Peter said.

“If you marry us, you can choose how you get to die.” Stiles told her. 

“ _No_.” she bit out.

“Okay,” Stiles sighed, shrugging as he knelt on the tarp next to her. Holding her still, he licked at her ear, taking the lobe into his mouth, and sucking for a moment. He hummed and tugged at the flesh with his teeth before hooking up the shock. As he moved to her next ear, she choked out a sob but didn’t relent so the boy stood to hand the switch to his mate. “This is your kill,” and Peter nodded before flicking the power on. 

She screamed, and it was very loud, as she arched up and thrashed and pissed herself. Peter even stopped looking smug to wince at the sound. 

“ **Stop**.” she shrieked out, her entire body convulsing in her bonds, banging and bashing itself into the deck. “ **Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. _Stop_**.” And she wailed, “ ** _I’ll do it_**.”

And Peter flicked the power off. “What was that?” he hummed.

Panting, she hoarsed out, “I’ll marry you and your little cocksucker.”

Peter flicked the switch on again, and Kate Argent _screeched_ , scolding, "That's hardly a polite way to accept a favor."

" **Okay.** " she sobbed. " **Okay. Stop.** " and the current was stopped again. The words were ragged, her voice croaking, "I'll marry you and your _mate_."

Peter looked over at Stiles. “We don’t even have rings.” He pointed out.

But Stiles face did not fall – in fact, he looked delighted – as he hurried back to his bag to rummage through. Peter understood immediately.

“No.” he protested. “No, Stiles. That’s ridiculous.”

Stiles ignored him. “What color do you want?”

“None of the colors.”

Stiles straightened and looked at him very seriously. “You _promised_ me.” 

Peter stared at him, thoroughly discontented. He sighed in defeat and grit out, “ _Fine_.”

Which was how he ended up, hand in hand with Stiles, both holding one pink Princess Polly Frosted Cinnamon Flakes prize ring. 

“What do you want me to say?” Kate Argent croaked. 

“Wedding stuff.” Stiles said. Kate looked remarkably displeased with this answer.

“Say, ‘Stiles Stilinski, do you take Peter Hale to be your…’” Peter paused, having a hard time saying the word, like he thought it was silly. Stiles looked unimpressed and refused to help the man out. “’Husband.’” He finally bit out.

“Stiles, do you take Peter to be your husband?” Kate repeated, monotone.

“Yes, I do.” And he slid the ring just past Peter’s first knuckle on his ring finger because that was as far as the small ring would go. “Now, say, ‘Peter Hale, do you take Stiles Stilinski, your true love forever and the best mate you could ever imagine having, to be your husband, to have and to hold and do other things with.’” Stiles prompted.

Kate Argent repeated most of that, but omitted some parts. Stiles looked ready to protest, but Peter said, “Yes, I do.” and slid the ring up as far as it would go.

‘Now, pronounce us married and tell us to kiss each other.” Stiles ordered.

“I now pronounce you husbands.” Kate Argent said, almost gagging at the words. “Kiss each other.” 

Stiles leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Peter. Pulling back, he peeked over at Kate, who had turned her face away from the display. Peter’s hand covered his and started to pull it up. However, before he could do anything conventionally romantic, as Stiles had thought he might be trying, he took the boy’s gun away and quickly raised it to shoot Kate Argent in the head.

She fell with a thump and Stiles looked over at his mate with a slight look of distaste. “I thought we said we’d let her chose.”

Peter feigned regret. “Oh, no. It must have slipped my mind.” 

Stiles grinned regardless. “Say that you love me.”

“I do.” Peter said, his arms circling Stiles’s waist. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Stiles returned.

The day was getting bright and sunny, and the boy knew enough about boats to get them far away after rolling the dead body of the woman up in the tarp with his mate and dropping her over the edge. 

Just like that, Stiles was kissing him, Peter lifting the boy up, and it was deep and it was wet, but over quick enough as Stiles hopped back to the ground, laughing, breathless and flushed and so very alive, even after all this time. And, so, they were howling at the morning, Peter near-chasing him to the ship's wheel, touching him and kissing him again and again and again because they were able to return home and they were victorious and, therefore, heroes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. This is the most indulgent thing I have ever written - so I hope some of that sat well with you guys too. This took a very long time to write - hopefully it turned out okay. And I hope your day is good, because you are made of star stuff. 
> 
> Shameless tumblr plug: [My Blog](http://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com/)


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